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“Grave oxen looked at him wistfully” (Page 344.) 

The White [Frontispiece 


The White Rose 


By 

G. J. Whyte-Melville 

Author of “Market Harborough,” “The Gladiators,” 
“ Katerfelto,” &c,, &c. 


Illustrated by S. E. Waller 


New York 

Longmans, Green & Co. 

, 1900 







/ 



> 


/ 


/ 




CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I. 

The Man in the Street 




• 


rAGB 

9 

II. 

The Young Idea 




• 

. 

17 

III. 

Norah 

- 

• 


• 

. 

24 

IV. 

Mr. Vandeleur 


• 


• 

. 

31 

V. 

The Maid of the MiU 


• 


• 

. 

39 

VI. 

Grinding 


• 


• 

. 

46 

VII. 

A Cat’s Paw . 


• 


• 


64 

VIII. 

Hot Chestnuts 


• 


t 

. 

63 

IX. 

A Passage of Arms . 


• 


• 

. 

70 

X. 

An Appointment 


• 


• 

. 

77 

XI. 

A Disappointment . 


• 


• 

. 

86 

XII. 

Reaction . , 


• 


• 

. 

95 

XIII. 

Goose-Step . 


• 


• 

. 

100 

XIV. 

Wearing the Green . 


• 



. 

110 

XV. 

“ The White Witch ” 




• 

. 

116 

XVI. 

Pious ^neas 




• 

. 

124 

xvn. 

The Girls we leave behind us 




. 

133 

XVIII. 

For Better 


• 



. 

139 

XIX. 

For Worse . 


• 



. 

148 


5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

XX. 

The Honeymoon 




• 

PAGE 

. 156 

XXI. 

Ketribution . 




• 

. 162 

XXII. 

French Lessons 




t 

. 170 

XXIII. 

“ Suivre la Gagnante ” 




• 

. 179 

XXIV. 

The Woman he Loved 




• 

. 187 

XXV. 

“ The Woman he Married ’ 

i> 



• 

. 195 

XXVI. 

The Euling Passion . 




• 

. 201 

XXVII. 

Disagreeable 




« 

. 208 

XXVIII. 

Despotic 




• 

. 217 

XXIX. 

Dangerous . . 




• 

. 225 

XXX. 

A Woman’s Work . 




• 

. 233 

XXXI. 

“ After Long Years ” 




• 

. 239 

XXXII. 

Mr. Barrington-Belgrave 




» 

. 248 

XXXIII. 

Original Composition 




• 

. 254 

XXXIV. 

The Cup Day 




• 

. 262 

XXXV. 

Tight Shoes . 




• 

. 270 

XXXVI. 

Non Cuivis . 




• 

. 277 

xxxvn. 

Shining Eiver 




f 

. 286 

xxxvin. 

A Befusal . . 




• 

. 295 

XXXIX. 

A Rebuff 




• 

. 302 

XL. 

The Reason Why . 




• 

. 307 

XLI. 

Without 





. 313 

XLII. 

Within 




• 

. 320 

XLni. 

“ Lost, Stolen, or Strayed 

» 



• 

. 329 

XLIV. 

“ Old Grits ” 




t 

. 334 

XLV. 

“ The Little Red Rover ” 





. 341 

XL VI. 

“ Immortelles ” 





. 350 

XLVII. 

“ Surgit Amari ” . 




• 

. 357 

XLvin. 

“ He cometh Not ” . 





. 364 

XLIX. 

Double Acrostics 





. 371 

L. 

The Star of the West 





. 379 


CONTENTS 1 


OHAP. 

LI. 

“ Fais ce que dois ” 

• 

• 

• 

PAOE 

, 387 

UI. 

“ Advienne ce que pourra ” 

• 

« 

« 

. 394 

Lni. 

Hunting her down ' . 

• 

• 

« 

. 402 

LIV. 

Palliatives . 

• 

• 

* 

. 409 

LV. 

Anodynes . , , 

• 

• 

• 

. 416 

LVI. 

Told out . 

• 

* 

m 

. 424 

LVII. 

“ For Auld Lang Syne ” 


• 

• 

. 431 

LVIII. 

The Manager’s Box 


• 

• 

. 439 

LIX. 

Exit . . . 

• 

• 

• 

. 447 

LX. 

After Long Years . . 

• 

• 

• 

. 452 




THE WHITE ROSE 


CHAPTER I 

THE MAN IN THE STREET 

It was dawn — dawn here in London, almost as cool and 
clear as in the pleasant country, where the bird was waking 
in the garden and the tall poplar stirred and quivered in the 
morning breeze. It was dawn on the bold outline of the 
inland hills, dawn on the dreary level of the deep, dark sea. 
Night after night daylight returns to nature, as sorrow after 
sorrow hope comes back to man. Even in the hospital — 
say St. George’s Hospital, for that was nearest to where I 
stood — the bright-eyed morning stole in to greet a score of 
sufferers, who had longed for her coming through weary 
hours of pain, to welcome her arrival as nurse, physician, 
friend ; and although on one dead, upturned face the grey 
light shed a greyer, ghastlier gleam — what then ? — a spirit 
had but broken loose from last night’s darkness, and 
departed in the tremble of twilight for the land beyond the 
grave, the place of everlasting day. It was dawn, too, in 
the long perspective of the silent streets — silent none the 
less for the booted tramp of an occasional policeman, for the 
rumbling of a belated cab, for shifting figures flitting like 
ghosts round distant corners — squalid, restless, degraded, 
and covered far too scantily with aught but shame. And it 
was dawn in the principal rooms of one of the best houses 
in London, filled with the great ones of the earth, or as 
they term themselves, somewhat presumptuously, with 


10 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“none but the best people” — a dawn less welcome here 
than in deep copse or breezy upland, than on the wide, lone 
sea, in the hushed ward of the hospital, or among the 
narrow streets — greeted, indeed, as a deliverer only by a 
few outwearied chaperones, and perhaps by the light- 
fingered musicians, who had still an endless cotillon to work 
through before they could cover up their instruments and 
go to bed. 

I had been down to supper — that is to say, I had 
stretched my arm over a white shoulder for half-a-tumbler 
of champagne and seltzer- water (the latter good of its kind), 
and had absorbed most of it in my glove, whilst I ministered 
at the same time to the wants of a stately dame whom I 
remember — ah ! so long ago — the slimmest and the lightest 
mover that ever turned a partner’s head in a waltz (we did 
not call them round dances then), and whom I now con- 
template, when we meet, with mingled feelings of respect, 
astonishment, and gratitude for deliverance from possible 
calamity. She was not satisfied with champagne and 
seltzer- water, far from it — though she drank that mixture 
with gratification too : but wisely restored vitality after the 
fatigues of the evening by a substantial supper, and I am 
not sure but that she had earned her provender fairly 
enough. 

“You must take me back now, please,” she said, “ or 
the girls won’t know where to find me ! ” 

I wonder whether she thought of the time when her 
mamma didn’t know where to find us, and the scolding she 
got in the carriage going home. I was sure she must have 
had it by the black looks and stiff bow I myself encountered 
in the Park next day. 

Dear ! dear ! was there ever any state of society in which 
youthful affections, fancies, attachments, call them what you 
will, were of a material to withstand the wear of a little 
time, a little absence, a good deal of amusement bordering 
on dissipation? Would such an Arcadia be pleasant or 
wearisome, or is it simply impossible ? Alas ! I know not ; 
but as far as my own observation goes, you may talk of your 
first love as poetically as you please — it’s your last love that 
comes in and makes a clean sweep of everything on the 
board. 


THE MAN IN THE 8TBEET 


11 


I need scarcely observe, this is not the remark I made 
as we laboured heavily up Lady Billesdon’s staircase, and 
parted at a doorway crowded to suffocation half-an-hour 
ago, but affording fair ingress and egress now, for the 
company were departing ; hoarse voices announced that 
carriages “ stopped the way,” or their owners were 

coming out;” while the linkman, with a benevolence 
beyond all praise, hoped “her Grace had not forgotten 
him,” and that “ the young ladies enjoyed their ball ! ” 

It was time for the young ladies to go, unless perhaps 
they were very young indeed, quite in their first season. 
Through the open squares of the ball-room windows a grey 
gap in the sky, already tinged with blue, was every moment 
widening into day. Lamps, and bright eyes too, began to 
wear a faded lustre, while the pale morning light, creeping 
along the passages and staircase, seemed to invade the 
company, dancers and all, like some merciless epidemic 
from which there was no escape. Perhaps this might 
account for much of the hooding, wrapping-up, and general 
hurry of departure. 

To a majority of the performers, besides those who have 
been fulfilling a duty and are glad it is over, I am not sure 
but that this same going away constitutes the pleasantest 
part of a ball. In a gathering of which amusement is the 
ostensible object, it is strange how many of the stronger 
and more painful feelings of our nature can be aroused by 
causes apparently trivial in themselves, but often leading to 
unlooked-for results. How many a formal greeting masks a 
heart that thrills, and a pulse that leaps, to the tone of some- 
body’s voice, or the rustle of somebody’s dress. How many 
a careless inquiry, being interpreted, signifies a volume of 
protestation or a torrent of reproach. With what electric 
speed can eager eyes, from distant comers, flash the 
expected telegram along the wes of mutual intelligence, 
through a hundred unconscious bystanders, and make two 
people happy who have not exchanged one syllable in 
speech. There is no end to “ the hopes and fears that 
shake a single ball ; ” but it is when the ball is nearly over, 
and the cloaking for departure begins, that the hopes 
assume a tangible form and the fears are satisfactorily dis- 
pelled. It is so easy to explain in low, pleading whispers 


THE WHITE BOSE 


n 

why such a dance was refused, or such a cavalier preferred 
under the frown of authority, or in fear of the convenances ; 
so pleasant to lean on a strong arm, in a nook not only 
sheltered from doorway draughts, but a little apart from 
the stream of company, while a kind hand adjusts the folds 
of the burnous with tender care, to be rewarded by a hasty 
touch, a gentle pressure, perhaps a flower, none the less 
prized that it has outlived its bloom. How precious are 
such moments, and how fleeting ! Happy indeed if pro- 
tracted ever so little by the fortunate coincidence of a foot- 
man from the country, a coachman fast asleep on his box, 
and a carriage that never comes till long after it has been 
called ! 

I stood at the top of Lady Billesdon’s staircase and 
watched the usual “business” with an attention partly 
flagging from weariness, partly diverted in the contempla- 
tion of my hostess herself, whose pluck and endurance, 
while they would have done honour to the youngest 
Guardsmen present, were no less extraordinary than 
admirable in an infirm old lady of threescore. Without 
counting a dinner-party (to meet Royalty), she had been 
“ under arms,” so to speak, for more than five hours, erect 
at the doorway of her own ball-room, greeting her guests, 
one by one, as they arrived, with unflagging cordiality, 
never missing the how, the hand-shake, nor the “right 
thing ” said to each. On her had devolved the ordering, 
the aiTangements, the whole responsibility of the entertain- 
ment, the invitations accorded — above all, the invitations 
denied ! And now she stood before me, that great and 
good woman, without a quiver of fatigue in her eye-lids, an 
additional line of care on her quiet matronly brow. 

It was wonderful ! It must have been something more 
than enthusiasm that kept her up, something of that stern 
sense of duty which fixed the Roman soldier at his post 
when the boiling deluge swept a whole population before it, 
and engulfed pleasant, wicked Pompeii in a sea of fire. 
But it was her own kind heart that prompted the hope I 
had been amused, and the pleasant “ Good-night ” with 
which she replied to my farewell bow and sincere con- 
gi-atulations (for she was an old friend) on the success of 
her ball. 


THE MAN IN THE STREET 


13 


Lady Billesdon, and those like her who give large enter- 
tainments, at endless trouble and expense, for the amuse- 
ment of their friends, deserve more gratitude from the 
charming young people of both sexes who constitute the 
rising generation of society in London than these are 
inclined to admit. It is not to be supposed that an elderly 
lady of orderly habits, even with daughters to marry, can 
derive much enjoyment from a function which turns her 
nice house out of windows, and keeps her weary self afoot 
and waking till six o’clock in the morning ; but if people 
whose day for dancing has gone by did not thus sacrifice 
their comfort and convenience to the pleasures of their 
juniors, I will only ask the latter to picture to themselves 
what a dreary waste would be the London season, what a 
desolate round of recurring penance would seem parks, 
shoppings, operas, and those eternal dinners, unrelieved by 
a single ball ! 

Some such reflections as these so engrossed my attention 
as I went down-stairs, mechanically fingering the latch-key 
in my waistcoat-pocket, that I am ashamed to say I inad- 
vertently trod on the dress of a lady in front of me, and was 
only made aware of my awkwardness when she turned her 
head, and with a half-shy, half-formal bow accosted me by 
name. 

‘‘ It is a long time since we have met,” she said, detach- 
ing herself for a moment from the arm of a good-looking 
man who was taking her to her carriage, while she put her 
hand out, and added, “ but I hope you have not quite for- 
gotten me.” 

Forgotten her ! a likely thing, indeed, that any man 
between sixteen and sixty, who had ever known Leonora 
Welby, should forget her while he retained his senses ! I 
had not presence of mind to exclaim, as a good-for-nothing 
friend of mine always does on such occasions, “ I wish I 
could ! ” but, reflecting that I had been three hours in the 
same house without recognising her, I bowed over the 
bracelet on her white arm, stupefied, and when I recovered 
my senses, she had reached the cloak-room, and dis- 
appeared. 

“ ’Gad, how well she looks to night ! ” said a hoarse 
voice behind me ; “ none of the young ones can touch her 


14 


THE WHITE ROSE 


even now. It’s not the same form, you see — not the same 
form.” 

“ She ? who ? ” I exclaimed ; for my wits were stiU wool- 
gathering. 

“ Who ? why Mrs. Vandeleur ! ” was the reply. “You 
needn’t swagger as if you didn’t know her, when she turned 
round on purpose to shake hands with you, — a thing I 
haven’t seen her do for half-a-dozen men this season. I 
am a good bit over fifty, my hoy ; and till I’ve bred a horse 
that can win the Derby, I don’t mean to turn my attention 
to anything else ; hut I can tell you, if she did as much for 
me twice in a week, I shouldn’t know whether I was 
standing on my grey head or my gouty heels. She’s a 
witch — that’s what she is : and you and I are old enough to 
keep out of harm’s way. Good-night ! ” 

Old Cotherstone was right. She wjas a witch ; but how 
different from, and oh ! how infinitely more dangerous than, 
the witches our forefathers used to gag, and drown, and 
bum, without remorse. She was coming out of the 
cloak-room again, still haunted by that good-looking young 
gentleman, who was probably over head and ears in love 
with her, and I could stare at her without rudeness now, 
from my post of observation on the landing. Yes, it was 
no wonder I had not recognised her ; though the dark 
pencilled eyebrows and the deep-fringed eyes were Norah 
Welby’s, it was hardly possible to believe that this high- 
bred, queenly, beautiful woman, could be the laughing, 
light-hearted girl I remembered in her father’s parsonage 
some ten or fifteen years ago. 

She was no witch then. She was a splendid enchantress 
now. There was a magic in the gleam that tinged her dark 
chestnut hair with gold ; magic in the turn of her small 
head, her delicate temples, her chiselled features, her 
scornful, self-reliant mouth, and the depth of her large, 
dark, loving eyes. Every movement of the graceful neck, 
of the tall, lithe figure, of the shapely limbs, denoted pride, 
indeed, but it was a pride to withstand injury, oppression, 
misfortune, insult, all the foes that could attack it from 
without, and to yield only at the softening touch of love. 

As she walked listlessly to her carriage, taking, it seemed 
to me, but little heed of her companion, I imagined I could 


THE MAN IN THE 8TBEET 


15 


detect, in a certain weariness of step and gesture, the 
tokens of a life unsatisfied, a destiny incomplete. I wonder 
what made me think of Sir Walter Raleigh flinging down 
his gold-embroidered cloak, the only precious thing he 
possessed, at the feet of the maiden queen ? The young 
adventurer doubtless acted on a wise calculation and a 
thorough knowledge of human, or at least of feminine, 
nature ; but there is here and there a woman in the world 
for whom a man flings his very heart down, recklessly and 
unhesitatingly, to crush and trample if she will. Some- 
times she treads it into the mire, but oftener, I think, she 
picks it up, and takes it to her own breast, a cherished 
prize, purer, better, and holier for the ordeal through which 
it has passed. 

I had no carriage to take me home, and wanted none. 
No gentle voice when I arrived there, kind or querulous, as 
the case might be, to reproach me with the lateness of the 
hour. Shall I say of this luxury also, that I wanted none ? 
No ; buttoning my coat, and reliant on my latch-key, I 
passed into the grey morning and the bleak street, as Mrs. 
Vandeleur’s carriage drove off, and the gentleman who had 
attended her walked back with a satisfied air into the house 
for his overcoat, and possibly his cigar-case. As he hurried 
in, he was fastening a white rose in his button-hole. A 
sister flower, drooping and fading, perhaps from nearer 
contact with its late owner, lay unnoticed on the pavement. 
I have seen so many of these vegetables exchanged, 
particularly towards the close of an entertainment, that I 
took little notice either of the keepsake, precious and 
perishable, or its discarded companion ; but I remember 
now to have heard in clubs and other places of resort, how 
pale beautiful Mrs. Vandeleur went by the name of the 
White Rose; a title none the less appropriate, that she 
was supposed to be plentifully girt with thorns, and that 
many well-known fingers were said to have been pricked to 
the bone in their efforts to detach her from her stem. 

There is a philosophy in most men towards five in the 
morning, supposing them to have been up all night, which 
tends to an idle contemplation of human nature, and 
indulgent forbearance towards its weaknesses. I generally 
encourage this frame of mind by the thoughtful consumption 


16 


THE WHITE ROSE 


of a cigar. Turning round to light one, a few paces from 
Lady Billesdon’s door, I was startled to observe a shabbily- 
dressed figure advance stealthily from the corner of the 
street, where it seemed to have been on the watch, and 
pounce at the withered rose, crushed and yellowing on the 
pavement. As it passed swiftly by me, I noticed the figure 
was that of a man in the prime of life, but in bad health, 
and apparently in narrow circumstances. His hair was 
matted, his face pale, and his worn-out clothes hung loosely 
from the angles of his frame. He took no heed of my 
presence, was probably unconscious of it ; for I perceived 
his eyes fill with tears as he pressed the crushed flower 
passionately to his lips and heart, muttering in broken 
sentences the while. 

I only caught the words, “I have seen you once more, 
my darling ! I swore I would, and it is worth it all ! ” 
Then his strength gave way, for he stopped and leaned his 
head against the area railings of the street. I could see, 
by the heaving of his shoulders, the man was sobbing like 
a child. Uncertain how to act, ere I could approach nearer 
he had recovered himself and was gone. 

Could this be her doing? Was Norah Vandeleur indeed 
a witch, and was nobody to be exempt from her spells? 
Was she to send home the sleek child of fortune, pleased 
with the superfluity of a flower and a flirtation too much, 
while she could not even spare the poor emaciated wretch 
who had darted on the withered rose she dropped with 
the avidity of a famished hawk on its prey ? What could 
he be, this man ? and what connection could possibly exist 
between him and handsome, highbred Mrs. Vandeleur? 

All these things I learned afterwards, partly from my 
own observation, partly from the confessions of those con- 
cerned. Adding to my early recollections of Norah Welby 
the circumstances that came to my knowledge both before 
and after she changed her name to Vandeleur, I am enabled 
to tell my tale, such as it is ; and I can think of no more 
appropriate title for the story of a fair and suffering woman 
than “ The White Rose.” 


CHAPTEK II 

THE YOUNG IDEA 

On a fine sunshiny morning, not very many years ago, two 
boys — I beg their pardon, two young gentlemen — were 
sitting in the comfortless pupil-room of a “ retired officer 
and graduate of Cambridge,” undergoing the process of 
being ‘‘crammed.” The retired officer and graduate of 
Cambridge had disappeared for luncheon, and the two 
young gentlemen immediately laid aside their books to 
engage in an animated discussion totally unconnected 
with their previous studies. It seemed such a relief to 
unbend the mind after an hour’s continuous attention to 
any subject whatever, that they availed themselves of the 
welcome relaxation without delay. I am bound to admit 
their conversation was instructive in the least possible 
degree. 

“I say, Gerard,” began the elder of the two, “ what’s 
become of Dandy? He was off directly after breakfast, 
and to-day’s his day for ‘ General Information.’ I wonder 
‘ Nobs ’ stood it, but he lets Dandy do as he likes.” 

“ Nobs,” be it observed, was the term of respect by which 
Mr. Ai’cher was known among his pupils. 

“ Nobs is an old muff, and Dandy’s a swell,” answered 
Gerard, who had tilted his chair on its hind-legs against 
the wall for the greater convenience of shooting paper-spills 
at the clock. “I shall be off, too, as soon as I have 
finished these equations; and I’m afraid, Dolly, you’ll 
have to spend another afternoon by yourself.” 

He spoke nervously, and stooped so low to pick one of 
the spills, that it seemed to bring all the blood in his body 

2 17 


18 


THE WHITE ROSE 


to bis face ; but bis blushes were lost on Dolly, wbo looked 
out of window, and answered tranquilly — 

“ Like all great men, Gerard, I am never so little alone 
as when alone — ‘ My mind to me a thingamy is ! ’ You 
two fellows have no resources within yourselves. Now I 
shall slope easily down to the mill, lift the trimmers, smoke 
a weed with old * Grits,’ and wile away the pleasant after- 
noon with a pot of mild porter ; — ^peradventure, if Grits is 
thirsty — of which I make small doubt — we shall accomplish 
two. And where may you he going. Master Jerry, this 
piping afternoon? Not across the marshes again, my 
boy. You’ve been there twice already this week.” 

Once more Gerard blushed like a girl, and this time 
without escaping the observation of his companion ; nor 
was his confusion lessened by the good-humoured malice 
with which the latter began to sing in a full mellow voice — 

“She hath an eye so soft and brown — 

’Ware, hare ! 

She gives a side glance, and looks down — 

’Ware, hare 1 


Master Jerry, she’s fooling thee ! ” 

Dolly, whose real name nobody ever called him by, 
enjoyed a great talent for misquotation, and a tendency to 
regard life in general from its ludicrous point of view. 
Otherwise, he was chiefly remarkable for a fat, jovial face ; 
a person to correspond; strong absorbing and digestive 
faculties ; a good humour that nothing could ruffle ; and an 
extraordinary facility in dismissing useful information from 
his mind. He was heir to a sufficient fortune, and, if he 
could pass his examination, his friends intended he should 
become a Hussar. 

Mr. Archer was at this period employed in the prepara- 
tion of three young gentlemen for the service of her Majesty. 
Military examinations were then in an early stage of 
development, but created, nevertheless, strong misgivings 
in the minds of parents and guardians, not to mention the 
extreme disgust with which they were viewed by future 
heroes indisposed to book-learning. It was a great object 
to find an instructor who could put the required amount of 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


19 


information into a pupil’s head in the shortest possible 
space of time, without reference to its stay there after an 
examination had been passed, and Mr. Archer was notorious 
for his success in this branch of tuition. Clever or stupid, 
idle or industrious, with him it was simply a question of 
weeks . 

“ I will put your young gentleman through the mill,” he 
would observe to an anxious father or an over-sanguine 
mamma ; but whether it takes him three months or six, or 
a whole year, depends very much upon himself. Natural 
abilities ! there’s no such thing ! If he will learn, he 
shall ; if he won’t, he must ! ” 

So Mr. Archer’s three small bed-rooms, with their white 
furniture and scanty carpets, never wanted occupants ; the 
bare, comfortless pupil-room, with its dirty walls and dingy 
ceiling, never remained empty; and Mr. Archer himself, 
who was really a clever man, found his banker’s account 
increasing in proportion to his own disgust for history, 
classics, geometry, engineering — all that had once afforded 
him a true scholar’s delight. It speaks well for learning, 
and the spells she casts over her lovers, that they can never 
quite free themselves from her fascinations. Even the over- 
worked usher of a grammer-school needs but a few weeks’ 
rest to return to his allegiance, and to glory once more in 
the stern mistress he adores. Mr. Archer, after a few 
months’ vacation, could perhaps take pride and pleasure in 
the cultivation of his intellect : but at the end of his half- 
year, jaded, disgusted, and over-worked, he could have 
found it in his heart to envy the very day-labourer mowing 
his lawn. 

That this military Mentor had enough on his hands 
may be gathered from the following summary of his 
pupils : — 

First. Granville Burton, a young gentleman of prepos- 
sessing appearance, and a florid taste in dress. Ante- 
cedents : Eton, two ponies, a servant of his own at 
sixteen, and a mother who had spoilt him from the day 
he was born. Handsome, fatherless, and heir to a good 
property, ever since he could remember he had been 
nicknamed ‘‘ Dandy,” and was intended for the Life- 
Guards. 


20 


THE WHITE ROSE 


Secondly. Charles Egremont, commonly called Dolly, 
already described. 

Lastly. Gerard Ainslie, one of those young gentlemen 
of whom it is so difficult to predict the future — a lad in 
years, a man in energy, but almost a woman in feelings. 
Gifted, indeed, with a woman’s quick perceptions and 
instinctive sense of right, but cursed with her keen affec- 
tions, her vivid fancy, and painful tendencies to self-torture 
and self-immolation. Such a character is pretty sure to be 
popular both with men and boys ; also perhaps, with the 
other sex. Young Ainslie, having his own way to make 
in the world, often boasted that he always ‘‘ lit on his 
legs.” 

An orphan, and dependent on a gi’eat-uncle whom he 
seldom saw, the army was indeed to be his profession ; and 
to him, far more than either of the others, it was important 
that he should go up for his examinations with certainty of 
success. It is needless to observe that he was the idlest 
of the three. By fits and starts he would take it into his 
head to work hard for a week at a time — ‘‘ Going in for a 
grind,” as he called it — ^with a vigour and determination 
that astonished Mr. Archer himself. 

“ Ainslie,” observed that gentleman after one of these 
efforts, in which his pupil had done twice the usual tasks in 
half the usual time, “ there are two sorts of fools — the fool 
positive, who can’t help himself, and the fool superlative, 
who won’t ! You make me think you belong to the latter 
class. If you would only exert yourself, you might pass in 
a month from this time.” 

“ I can work, sir, well enough,” replied the pupil, “ when 
I have an object.” 

“ An object ! ” retorted the tutor, lifting his eyebrows in 
that stage of astonishment which is but one degree removed 
from disgust ; “ gi-acious heavens, sir, if your whole success 
in life, your character, your position, the very bread you 
eat, is not an object, I should like to know what is ! ” 

Gerard knew, but he wasn’t going to tell Mr. Archer ; 
and I think that in this instance the latter showed less 
than his usual tact and discrimination in the characters of 
the young. 

It was in pursuit of this object no doubt that Gerard 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


21 


finished his equations so rapidly, and put his hooks on the 
shelf with a nervous eagerness that denoted more than 
common excitement, to which Dolly’s imperturbable de- 
meanour afforded a wholesome contrast. 

‘‘Off again, Jerry,” observed the latter, still intent on a 
mathematical figure requiring the construction of a square 
and a circle, on which he lavished much unnecessary 
accuracy and neatness, to the utter disregard of the demon- 
stration it involved; “I envy you, my boy — and yet I 
would not change places with you after all. You’ll have a 
pleasant journey, like the cove in the poem — 

All in the blue unclouded weather 
Thick- jewelled shone the saddle-leather, 

The helmet and the helmet feather 
Burnt like one burning flame together, 

As he rode down to Camelot. 

‘ Tirra-lirra 1 It’s deuced hot,’ 

Sang Sir Launcelot. 

— That’s what I call real poetry, Jerry, I say, I met 
Tennyson once at my old governor’s. He didn’t jaw 
much. I thought him rather a good chap. You’ve got 
three miles of it across those blazing marshes. I’ll take 
odds you don’t do it in thirty-five minutes — walking, of 
course, heel and toe.” 

“Bother!” replied Jerry, and, snatching his hat from 
its peg, laid his hand on the open window-sill, vaulted 
through, and was gone. 

Dolly returned to his problem, shaking his head with 
considerable gravity. 

“ Now, that young chap will come to grief,” he solilo- 
quised. “ He wants looking after, and who’s to look after 
him ? If it was Dandy Burton I shouldn’t so much mind. 
The Dandy can take precious good care of himself. What 
he likes is to ‘ get up ’ awful, and be admired. Wouldn’t 
he just — 


Stand at his diamond-door. 
With his rainbow-frill unfurled, 
And swear if he was uncurled ? 


Now Jerry’s different. Jerry’s a good sort, and I don’t 


22 


THE WHITE ROSE 


want to see the young beggar go a mucker for want of a 
little attention. Grits is a sensible chap enough — I never 
knew a miller that wasn’t. I’ll just drop easily down the 
lane and talk it over with Grits.” 

In pursuance of which discreet resolution, Dolly — who, 
although actually the junior, believed himself in wisdom 
and general experience many years older than his friend — 
sauntered out into the sunshine with such deliberation that 
ere he had gone a hundred yards, the other, speeding along 
as if he trod on air, was already more than half through his 
journey. 

And he was treading on air. The long, level marshes 
through which he passed, with their straight banks, their 
glistening ditches, their wet, luxuriant herbage and hideous 
pollard willows, would have seemed to you or me but a flat 
uninteresting landscape, to be tolerated only for the stock 
it could carry, and the remunerative interest it paid on the 
capital sunk in drainage per acre ; but to Gerard Ainslie it 
was simply fairy-land — the fairy-land through which most 
of us pass, if only for a few paces, at some period of our 
lives. Few enter it more than once, for we remember 
when we emerged how cold it was outside ; we shudder 
when we think of the bleak wind that buffeted our bodies 
and chilled our quivering hearts : we have not forgotten 
how long it took to harden us for our bleak native 
atmosphere, and we dare not risk so sad a change 
again ? 

The marshes, whether fairy-land or pasture, soon dis- 
appeared beneath Gerard’s light and active footfall. What 
is a mere league of distance to a well-made lad of nineteen — 
a runner, a leaper, a cricketer — tolerably in condition, and, 
above all, very much in love ; he was soon in a wooded 
district, amongst deep lanes, winding footpaths, thick 
hedges, frequent stiles, and a profusion of wild flowers. 
He threaded his way as if he knew it well. Presently the 
colour faded from his cheek and his heart began to beat, 
for he had reached a wicket-gate in a high mouldering, 
ivy-grown wall, and beyond it he knew was a smooth-shaven 
lawn, a spreading cypress, a wealth of roses, and the 
prettiest parsonage within four counties. He had learnt 
the trick of the gate, and had opened it often enough, yet 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


23 


he paused for a moment outside. Although he had walked 
his three miles pretty fast, he had been perfectly cool 
hitherto, but now he drew his handkerchief across his face, 
while with white parched lips and trembling fingers, he 
turned the handle of the wicket and passed through. 


CHAPTER m 


NOEAH 

The lawn, the cedar, the roses, there they were exactly as 
he had pictured them to himself last night in his dreams, 
that morning when he awoke, the whole forenoon in the 
dreary study, through those eternal equations. Nothing 
was wanting, not even the low chair, the slender work- 
table, nor the presence that made a paradise of it all. 

She was sitting in a white dress beneath the drooping 
lime-tree that gleamed and quivered in the sunbeams, alive 
with its hum of insects, heavy in its wealth of summer 
fragi’ance, and raining its shower of blossoms with every 
breath that whispered through its leaves. For many a 
year after, perhaps his whole life long, he never forgot 
her as she sat before him then ; never forgot the gold on 
her rich chestnut hair, the light in her deep fond eyes, nor 
the tremble of happiness in her voice, while she exclaimed, 

Gerard ! And again to-day ! How did you manage to 
come over? It is so late, I had almost given you up ! ” 

She had half-risen, as if her impulse was to rush towards 
him, but sat down again, and resumed her work with 
tolerable composure, though parted lips and flushing cheek 
betrayed only too clearly how welcome was this intrusion 
on her solitude. 

He was little more than nineteen, and he loved her very 
dearly. He could And nothing better to say than this : 
‘‘ I only wanted to bring you some music. The others 
are engaged, and I had really nothing else to do. How is 
Mr. Welby? ” 

‘‘Papa was quite well,” she answered demurely enough, 

24 


mBAB 


25 


and very busy as usual at this hour, in his own den. 
Should she let him know,” — and there was a gleam of 
mirth in her eye, a suspicion of malice in her tone, — 
“ should she run and tell him Mr. Ainslie was here ? ” 

By no means,” answered Gerard, needlessly alarmed 
at such a suggestion; “I would not disturb him on any 
consideration. And, Norah ! — you said I might call you 
Norah at the Archery Meeting.” 

“ Did I? ” replied the young lady, looking exceedingly 
pretty and provoking ; I can’t have meant it if I did.” 

“ Oh, Norah ! ” he interposed, reproachfully, “you don’t 
mean to say you’ve forgotten ! ” 

“ I haven’t forgotten that you were extremely cross, and 
ate no luncheon, and behaved very badly,” she answered, 
laughing. “ Never mind, Gerard, we made friends coming 
home, didn’t we ? And if I said you might, I suppose you 
must. Now you look all right again, so don’t be a rude 
boy, but tell me honestly if you walked all this way in the 
sun only because you had nothing better to do? ” 

His eyes glistened. “You know why I come here,” he 
said. “ You know why I would walk a thousand miles 
barefoot to see you for five minutes. Now I shall be 
contented all to-day and to-morrow, and then next morning 
I shall begin to get restless and anxious, and if I can, 
I shall come here again.” 

“ You dear fidget ! ” she answered with a bright smile. 
“I know I can believe you, and it makes me veiy happy. 
Now hold these silks while I wind them ; and after that, if 
you do it well. I’ll give you some tea ; and then you shall 
see papa, who is really very fond of you, before you go 
back.” 

So the two sat down — in fairy-land — under the lime-tree, 
to wind silks — a process requiring little physical exertion, 
and no great effort of mind. It seemed to engross their 
whole energies nevertheless, and to involve a good deal of 
conversation, carried on in a very low tone. I can guess 
almost all they said, but should not repeat such arrant 
nonsense, even had I overheard every syllable. It was only 
that old story, I suppose, the oldest of all, but to which 
people never get tired of listening ; and the sameness of 
which in every language, and under all circumstances, is 


26 


THE WHITE BOSE 


as remarkable as its utter want of argument, continuity, or 
common sense. 

Gerard Ainslie and Miss Welby had now known each 
other for about six months, a sufficiently long period to 
allow of very destructive campaigns both in love and war. 
They had fallen in love, as people call it, very soon after 
their first introduction ; that is to say, they had thought 
about each other a good deal, met often enough to keep up 
a vivid recollection of mutual sayings and doings, yet with 
sufficient uncertainty to create constant excitement, none 
the less keen for frequent disappointments ; and, in short, 
had gone through the usual probation by which that 
accident of an accident, an unwise attachment between two 
individuals, becomes strengthened in exact proportion to 
its hopelessness, its inconvenience, and the undoubted 
absurdity that it should exist at all. 

People said Mr. Welby encouraged it ; whereas poor 
Mr. Welby, who would have esteemed the prince in a fairy 
tale not half good enough for his daughter, was simply 
pleased to thiii that she should have companions of her 
own age, male or female, who could bring a brighter lustre 
to her eye, a softer bloom to her cheek. It never occurred 
to him for a moment that his Norah, his own peculiar pride 
and pet and constant companion since he lost her mother 
at four years old, should dream of caring for anybody but 
himself, at least for many a long day to come. If he did 
contemplate such a possibility, it was with a vague, misty 
idea that in some ten years or so, when he was ready to 
drop into his grave, some great nobleman would lay a heart, 
and a coronet to match, at his child’s feet, and under the 
circumstances such an arrangement would be exceedingly 
suitable for all concerned. But that Norah, his Norah, 
should allow her affections to be entangled by young Gerard 
Ainslie, though a prime favourite of his own, why I do not 
believe such a contingency could have been placed before 
him in any light that could have caused him to admit the 
remotest chance of its existence. 

Nevertheless, while Mr. Welby was making bad English 
of excellent Greek, under the impression that he was 
rendering the exact meaning of Euripides for the benefit of 
unlearned men, his daughter and her young adorer were 


NOBAH 


27 


enacting the old comedy, tragedy, farce, or pantomime — for 
it partakes of the natui*e of all these entertainments — on 
their own little stage, with scenery, dresses, and decora- 
tions to correspond. Ah ! we talk of eloquence, expression, 
fine writing forsooth ! and the trick of word-painting, as 
very a trick as any other tmm of the handicraftsman’s trade : 
hut who ever read in a whole page of print one-half the 
poetry condensed into two lines of a woman’s manuscript ? 
— ungrammatical, if you please, ill expressed, and with long 
tails to the letters, yet breathing in every syllable that 
sentiment of ideality which has made the whole ornamental 
literature of the world. After all, the head only reproduces 
what the heart creates ; and so we give the mocking-bird 
credit when he imitates the loving murmurs of the dove. 

If oratoiy should be judged by its effect, then must 
Nor ah Welby and Gerard Ainslie have been speakers of 
the highest calibre. To be sure, they had already 
practised in a good many rehearsals, and ought to have 
been pretty well up in their parts. 

The simultaneous start with which they increased their 
distance by at least a fathom, on hearing the door-bell 
jingling all over the house, would have ensured a round of 
applause from any audience in Europe. 

‘‘How provoking ! ” exclaimed the girl ; “ and people so 
seldom come here on a Tuesday. Perhaps, after all, it’s 
only somebody for papa.” 

Gerard said nothing, but his colour deepened, and a 
frown of very obvious annoyance lowered on his brow. It 
did not clear the more to observe an open carriage, with a 
pair of good-looking horses, driven round to the stables. 
As paint and varnish glistened in the sunshine through the 
laurels. Miss Welby drew a long sigh of relief. 

“ It might have been worse,” she said ; “it might have 
been the Warings, all of them, with their aunt, or that 
dreadful Lady Baker, or Mrs. Brown ; but it’s only Mr. 
Vandeleur, and he won’t stay long. Besides, he’s always 
pleasant and good-natured, and never says the wi’ong thing. 
We won’t have tea though till he’s gone.” 

“It seems to me, Norah,” answered her visitor, “that 
you rather like Mr. Vandeleur.” 

“ Like him ! I should think I did ! ” protested the young 


28 


THE WHITE BOSE 


lady ; “ but you needn’t look so fierce about it, Master 
Jerry. I like him because papa does ; he’s always in better 
spirits after a visit from Mr. Vandeleur. Besides, he’s 
immensely clever you know, and well-read, and all that. 
Papa says he might be in the Government if he chose to go 
into Parliament. Not that I care^about clever people myself ; 
I think it’s much nicer to be like you, Jerry, you stupid 
boy ! I don’t think you’ll ever pass your examination — 
and so much the better, for then you won’t have to go 
away, and leave us all, and — and forget us.” 

“Forget you ! ” replied Gerard, decreasing by one half 
the distance he had taken up from his companion. What 
more he might have said was cut short by the appearance 
of a gentleman whose step had been unheard on the thick 
velvet turf, and who now came forward to greet his hostess, 
with an admirable mixture of the deference due to a young 
lady, and the cordiality permitted from an old friend. 

“ I came through the garden on purpose to say how d’ye 
do,” he observed, with marked politeness, “ but my visit 
is really to your father. I hope he is not too busy to 
see me for half an hour. In fact, I believe he expected me 
either to-day or to-morrow.” Then, turning to Gerard, he 
shook him warmly by the hand, and congratulated him 
on the score he had made a few days before in a cricket 
match. 

Norah was right. Mr. Vandeleur was not a man to say 
the wrong thing, even under the most unfavourable circum- 
stances. Those who knew him best affirmed that he was 
not to be hurried, nor taken aback, nor found at a loss. 
He would have been exceedingly popular, but that never 
for more than a few seconds could he look anybody in 
the face. 

His eyes shifted uneasily from Gerard’s even now. The 
latter did not like him, and though he answered civilly, was 
too young to conceal his aversion ; but Vandeleur, with all 
the advantage of position, manner, and experience, still 
more of the man over the boy, and, above all, of the careless 
admirer over the devoted slave, felt too safe not to be in 
good humour, and put in even for Gerard’s approval by the 
tact with which he veiled his consciousness of intrusion, 
while he announced his intention to withdraw. 


NOBAE 


29 


“I see you have both more work to do,” he observed, 
gaily pointing to a skein of silk that still hung over the 
back of Norah’s chair, for in truth the operation had been 
going on very slowly, “ and I have, as usual, a thousand 
things to attend to between this and dinner. Miss Welby, 
do you think I might venture to invade your father at once 
in his study ? If you are not gone in half an hour, Ainslie, 
I can give you a lift most of the way back. I should like 
you to get your hand on those chestnuts of mine. The 
white-legged one is the only perfect phaeton-horse I ever 
had in my life. I will come and make my bow to Miss 
Welby before I start.” 

“Isn’t he nice? ” exclaimed Norah, as the visitor dis- 
appeared under the low ivy-grown porch of the Parsonage. 
“ He always seems to do exactly what you want without 
finding you out. And if you’re tired or stupid, or don’t 
like to talk, he’ll neither bore you himself or let other 
people worry you. Isn’t he nice, I say? Master Jerry, 
why can’t you answer ? Don’t you know that I will insist 
on your liking everybody I like? ” 

“ I cannot like Mr. Vandeleur,” answered Gerard 
doggedly, for not even the compliment implied in asking 
his opinion of the phaeton-horses — a compliment generally 
so acceptable at nineteen — had overcome his distaste to this 
gentleman. “ I never did like him, and I never shall like 
him. And I think I hate him all the more, Norah, 
because — because ’ ’ 

“Because what?” asked Miss Norah, pettishly; “be- 
cause I like him ! ” 

“Because I think he likes you,” answered Gerard, with 
a very red face ; adding somewhat injudiciously, “ It’s 
absurd, it’s ridiculous ! An old man like that! ” 

“ He’s not so very old,” observed the young lady, mali- 
ciously ; “ and he’s tolerably good-looking still.” 

“ He’s a widower, at any rate,” urged Gerard ; “ and 
they say he regularly killed his first wife.” 

“ So did Bluebeard,” replied wicked Miss Norah ; “ and 
look how people made up to him afterwards ! Do you know, 
I don’t see why Mr. Vandeleur shouldn’t settle down into a 
very good husband for anybody.” 

Gerard had been red before : he turned pale now. 


30 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“ Do you really mean that ?” he asked in tones rather 
lower and more distinct than common. 

^‘For anybody of his own age, of course,” answered the 
provoking girl. “ Not for a young lady, you know. Why, 
he must be very nearly as old as papa. I wish he’d come 
to say ‘ Good-bye ’ all the same, though he must take you 
with him. Poor boy ! you’ll never get back in time, and 
you’ll be so hot if you have to run all the way.” 

Even while she spoke, a servant came out of the Parson- 
age with a message. It was to give “ Mr. Vandeleur’s 
compliments, and one of his horses had lost a shoe. He 
feared to make Mr. Ainslie too late, if he waited till it was 
put on.” 

“ And you’ve never had your tea after all ! ” exclaimed 
Norah, about to recall the servant and order that beverage 
forthwith. 

But Ainslie did not want any tea, and could not stay for 
it if he had wanted some. Even his light foot could hardly 
be expected to do the three miles much under twenty-five 
minutes, and he must be off at once. He hated going, and 
she hated parting with him. Probably they told each other 
so, for the servant was already out of hearing, and his back 
was turned. 

We may follow the servant’s example. We have no 
wish to be spies on the leave-taking of two young lovers at 
nineteen. 


CHAPTER IV 


MR. VANDELBUR 

I HAVE not the slightest douht the chestnut horse’s shoe 
was off when he arrived, and that his owner was perfectly 
aware of the loss while so politely offering Gerard Ainslie a 
lift hack in his carriage, but Mr. Vandeleur was a gentleman 
untroubled by scruples, either in small things or great. 
His principle, if he had any, was never to practice in- 
sincerity unless it was necessary, or at least extremely 
convenient, except where women were concerned ; in such 
cases he considered deceit not only essential hut praise- 
worthy. As a young man, Vandeleur had been a profligate, 
when open profligacy was more the fashion than at present ; 
while good looks, a good constitution, and a good fortune, 
helped him to play his part successfully enough on the 
stage of life, in London or Paris, as the pleasant, popular 
good-for-nothing, who in spite of his extravagance was never 
out-at-elbows, in spite of his excesses was never out of 
spirits or out of humour. With a comely exterior, a healthy 
digestion, and a balance at his bankers, a man requires but 
few sterling qualities to make his way in a society that 
troubles itself very little about his neighbours so long as they 
render themselves agreeable, in a world that while not 
entirely adverse to being shocked, is chiefly intolerant of 
being bored. 

Some of those who ministered to his pleasures might 
indeed have told strange stories about Vandeleur, and one 
violent scene in Paris was only hushed up by the tact of an 
exalted foreign friend and the complicity of a sergent de 
ville ; but such trifling matters were below the surface, and 


32 


THE WHITE EOSE 


in no way affected his popularity, particularly amongst the 
ladies, with whom a little mystery goes a long way, and into 
whose good graces the best initiative step is to awaken a curi- 
osity, that seldom fails to chafe itself into interest if left 
for a time ungratified. It can only have been some morbid 
desire to learn more of him at all risks, that tempted the 
daughter of a ducal house to trust her life’s happiness in so 
frail a bark as that of Vandeleur. “ Lady Margaret must 
he a hold girl ! ” was the general opinion expressed at 
White’s, Boodle’s, and Arthur’s, in the boudoirs of Belgravia, 
and the dining-rooms of Mayfair, when her marriage was 
announced, and it was observed that the bridegroom’s inti- 
mate friends were those who showed most disapprobation of 
the alliance, and who chiefly commiserated the bride. 
Nevertheless, hold or blushing. Lady Margaret married 
him decorously, attended the wedding-breakfast afterwards, 
and eventually drove off in a veiy becoming lilac travelling- 
dress to spend the honeymoon at Oakover, her husband’s 
old family place. But she never came back to London. 
For two years husband and wife disappeared entirely from 
the set in which they had hitherto lived, regretted 
loudly, missed but little, as is the way of the world. They 
travelled a good deal, they vegetated at their country place, 
but at home or abroad never seemed to be an hour apart. 

Some people said she was jealous, frightfully jealous, and 
would not let him out of her sight ; some that they were a 
most attached couple ; some that Lady Margaret’s health 
had grown very precarious, and she required constant 
attention. Her own family shook their heads and agTeed, 
“Margaret was much altered since her marriage, and 
seemed so wrapped up in her husband that she had quite 
forgotten her own relations. As for him — Well, they didn’t 
know what she had done to him, but he certainly used to 
be much pleasanter as a bachelor ! ” 

Lady Margaret had no children, yet she lost her looks 
day by day. At the end of two years the blinds were 
down at Oakover, and its mistress was lying dead in the 
bedroom that had been decorated so beautifMly to receive 
her as a bride. The sun rose and set more than once before 
Vandeleur could be persuaded to leave her body. A belated 
housemaid, creeping upstairs to bed, frightened out of her 


MB. VANDELEUB 


33 


wits at any rate by the bare idea of having a death in the 
house, heard his laughter ringing wild and shrill in that 
desolate chamber at the end of the corridor. Long after- 
wards, in her next place, the poor girl would wake up in 
the night, terrified by the memory of that fearful mirth, 
which haunted even her dreams. On the day of Lady 
Margaret’s funeral, however, the mourners were surprised 
to see how bravely her husband bore his loss. In a few 
weeks the same people declared themselves shocked to hear 
that Mr. Vandeleur went about much as usual; in a few 
months, were surprised to learn he had retired from the 
world and gone into a monastery. 

The monastery turned out to be simply a yacht of 
considerable tonnage. For two years Vandeleur absented 
himself from England, and of that two years he either would 
not, or could not give any account. When he returned, the 
ladies would have made him a second Lara, had he shown 
the least tendency to the mysterious and romantic ; but he 
turned up one morning in Hyde Park as if nothing had 
happened, paid his penny for a chair, lit his cigar, took his 
hat off to the smartest ladies with his old manner, went to 
the Opera, and in twenty-four hours was as thoroughly re- 
established in London as if he had never married, and 
never left it. 

He was still rather good-looking, but affected a style of 
dress and deportment belonging to a more advanced period 
of life than he had attained. His hair and whiskers were 
grizzled, indeed, and there were undoubted wrinkles about 
his keen restless eyes, as on his healthy, weather-browned 
cheek ; yet none of the ladies voted him too old to marry ; 
the}^ even protested that he was not too old to dance ; and 
I believe that at no period of his life would Vandeleur have 
had a better chance of winning a nice wife than in the first 
season after his return from his mysterious disappearance. 

He did not seem the least inclined to take advantage of 
his luck. While at Oakover, indeed, he busied himself to 
a certain extent with a country gentleman’s duties and 
amusements — attending magistrates’ meetings at rare 
intervals, asked a houseful of neighbours to shoot, dine, 
and sleep, two or three times during the winter ; was present 
at one archery meeting in October, and expressed an in- 


34 


THE WHITE BOSE 


teution he did not fulfil, of going to the County Ball ; but 
in London he appeared to relapse insensibly into his 
bachelor ways and bachelor life, so that the Vandeleur of 
forty was, I fear, little more useful or respectable a member 
of society than the Vandeleur of twenty-five. 

A few years of such a life, and the proprietor of Oakover 
seemed to have settled down into a regular gi’oove of refined 
self-indulgence. The tongue of scandal wags so freely when 
it has once been set going, that no wonder it soon tires itself 
out, and a man who pays lavishly for his pleasures finds it 
a long time before they rise up in judgment against him. 
Even in a country neighbourhood it is possible to establish 
a prescriptive right for doing wrong ; and while the 
domestic arrangements at Oakover itself were conducted 
with the utmost decorum and propriety, people soon 
ceased to trouble themselves about its master’s doings 
when out of his own house. 

For an idle man Vandeleur was no mean scholar. The 
sixth fonn at Eton, and a good degree at Oxford, had not 
cured him of a taste for classic literature, and he certainly 
did derive a pleasure from his visits to Mr. Welby’s 
Parsonage, which had nothing to do with the bright eyes of 
the clergyman’s daughter. 

Host and guest had much in common. Welby himself, 
before he entered the Church — of which it is but fair to say he 
was a conscientious minister — had been familiar, so to speak, 
with the ranks of the Opposition. Even now he looked back 
to the brilliancy of that pleasant, wicked world, as the crew of 
Ulysses may have recalled the wild delights of their enchanted 
island. False they were, no doubt — lawless, injurious, 
debasing; yet tinged, they felt too keenly, with an unearthly 
gleam of joy from heaven or hell. They are thankful to 
have escaped, yet would they not forego the strange ex- 
perience if they could. 

Miss Welby was right when she said her father always 
seemed in better spirits after a visit from Mr. Vandeleur; 
perhaps that was why she received the latter so graciously 
when, emerging from the study, he crossed the lawn to take 
leave of her some twenty minutes after Gerard Ainslie’s 
departure. 

He ought to have been no bad judge, and he thought he 


MR. VAN DELEV B 


35 


had never seen a woman look so well. Happiness is a rare 
cosmetic ; and though, as many a man had reason to 
admit, sorrow in after years refined, idealised, and gave a 
more elevated character to her beauty, I doubt if Norah 
was ever more captivating to Yandeleur than on that 
bright summer’s afternoon under the lime-trees. 

She was thinking of Gerard, as a woman thinks of her 
idol for the time. That period may he a lifetime, or it may 
last only for a year or two, or for a few months. I have 
even heard three weeks specified as its most convenient 
duration ; hut long or short, no doubt the worship is sincere 
and engrossing while it exists. The little flutter, the 
subdued agitation created by the presence of her lover, had 
vanished,but the feeling of intense happiness, the sense of 
complete dependence and repose, steeped her in an atmo- 
sphere of security and contentment that seemed to glorify her 
whole being, and to enhance even the physical superiority 
of her charms. She felt so thankful, so joyful, so capable 
of everything that was noble or good, so completely in 
charity with all the world ! No wonder she gi’eeted her 
father’s friend with a cordial manner and a bright smile. 

“ Your carriage has not come round yet, Mr. Vande- 
leur,” she said, “ and they will bring tea in five minutes. 
Papa generally comes out and has a cup with us here. 
You at least are not obliged to hurry away,” she added 
rather wistfully, glancing at the chair which Gerard had 
lately occupied. 

His eye followed hers. I am glad I am too old for a 
private tutor,” he answered with a meaning smile. That’s 
a very nice hoy. Miss Welby, that young Mr. Ainslie ; and 
how sorry he seemed to go away.” 

She blushed. It was embarrassing to talk about Gerard, 
but still it was not unpleasant. 

‘‘ We all like him very much,” she said, guardedly, 
meaning probably by “all,” herself, her papa, and her 
bullfinch, which comprised the family. 

“A nice gentleman-like boy,” continued Mr. Yandeleur; 
“well-disposed, too, I can see. When I was his age. 
Miss Welby, I don’t think I should have been so amenable 
to discipline under the same temptation. I fancy my 
tutor might have whistled for me, if I wanted to he late for 


36 


THE WHITE BOSE 


dinner. Ah ! we were wilder in my time, and most of us 
have turned out badly in consequence ; but I like this lad, 
I assm’e you, very much. None the less that he seems so 
devoted to you. Have you known him long ? ” 

Luckily the tea had just arrived, and Norah could bend 
her blushing face over the cups. 

Had she known Gerard long? Well, it seemed so ; and 
yet the time had passed only too quickly. She had known 
him scarcely six months. Was that a long or a short 
acquaintance in which to have become so fond of him ? 

With faltering voice she replied, “ Yes — no — not very 
long — ever since last winter, when he came to Mr. 
Archer’s ? ” 

“Who is he? and what is he ? ” continued Vandelem’, 
sipping his tea calmly. “Do they mean him for a soldier? 
Will my friend Archer make anything of him ? Don’t you 
pity poor Archer, Miss Welby ? A scholar, a gentleman, 
a fellow who has seen some service, and might have dis- 
tinguished himself if he had stuck to the army. And now 
he is condemned to spend seven hours a day in licking 
cubs into shape for inspection by the Horse Guards.” 

“ There are no cuhs there this year,” she answered with 
some spirit. “ Mr. Burton and Mr. Egremont, and the 
rest, are very gentleman-like, pleasant young men, and 
just as clever as anybody else ! ” 

“ That is not saying much,” he replied, with perfect 
good humour; “ but when I talk of ‘cubs ’ I declare to you 
I don’t mean your friend and mine, Mr. Ainslie. I tell you 
I have taken a great fancy to the boy, and would do him a 
turn if I could. I suppose he would like to get his com- 
mission at once ? ” 

Even at nineteen she was yet woman enough to have 
studied his future welfare ; and his “ getting his commis- 
sion ” was the point to which she had so often looked for- 
ward with dismay as the termination of their happiness — it 
might be, something whispered to her ominously, even of 
their friendship. Nevertheless, she knew it would be for his 
advantage to enter the army at once. She knew he was 
wasting his time here, in nothing perhaps more than in his 
oft-repeated visits to herself. Her heart sank when she 
thought of the lawn, and the cedar, and the lime-trees. 


MB, VANDBLBVB 


37 


without those visits to look back on, and look forward to, 
hut she answered bravely, though her face turned very 
pale — 

“ Certainly ! It would he of great importance to Mr. 
Ainslie, I believe ; and I am sure he would be grateful to 
anybody who could help him to it.” 

She would have added, ‘‘ And so should I,” but a sensa- 
tion as if she were choking stopped her short. 

“ If you are interested about him, that is enough,” 
replied Vandeleur. “ I will try what can be done, and 
small as is my interest, it ought to he sufficient to carry 
out so very common-place a job as this. In the meantime 
what a hot walk the poor boy will have ! I wish he could 
have waited. I would have driven him to Archer’s door. 
It’s a good thing to he young. Miss Welhy, but no doubt 
there are certain disadvantages connected with a prosperity 
that is still to come. In ten years that young gentleman 
will he a rising man, I venture to predict. In twenty a 
successful one, with a position and a name in the world. 
Twenty years ! It’s a long time, isn’t it ? I shall be in 
my grave, and you — why even you will have left off being a 
young lady then.” 

She was thinking the same herself. Would it really be 
twenty years before poor Gerard could reach the lowest 
round of that ladder on which she longed to see him ? Mr. 
Vandeleur had great experience, he must know best, he 
was a thorough man of the world. What an unfair world 
it was. Poor Gerard ! 

She sighed, and raising her eyes to her companion’s face, 
who instantly looked away, was conscious he had read her 
thoughts : this added to her discomposure, and for the 
moment she felt as if she could cry. Vandeleur knew 
every turn of the game he was playing, and saw that for 
the present he had better enact any part than that of con- 
fidant. Later, perhaps, when Gerard was gone, and the 
blank required filling up, it might be judicious to assume 
that, or any other character, which would give him access 
to her society ; but at the present stage, disinterested 
friendship was obviously the card to play, and he produced 
it without hesitation. 

“ Then that is settled ? ” he said gaily. “ I’ll do what 


38 


THE WHITE BOSE 


I can, and if I don’t succeed you may be sure it’s not for 
want of goodwill to you and yours. I’m an old friend, you 
know. Miss Welby — if not of your own, at least of your 
father’s ; and believe me, it would be a great pleasure to 
serve you in anything. Anything ! — a caprice, a fancy, 
what you will. Black or white, right or wrong, easy or 
difficult — or impossible. That’s plain speaking isn’t it ? I 
don’t do things by halves ! And now I must really be off ; 
those horses of mine have pawed a regular pit in your 
gravel-walk, and half-a-dozen country neighbours are 
waiting dinner for me at this moment, I do believe. Good- 
bye, Miss Welby ; keep your spirits up, and let me come 
and see you again when I’ve some good news to tell.” 

Still talking, he hurried away, and drove off at a gallop, 
waving his whip cheerfully above the laurels as he passed 
within sight of the lawn. Norah thought she had never 
liked him so much as when the grating of his wheels died 
out in the stillness of the summer evening, and she was 
left alone with her own thoughts. 


CHAPTER V 


THE MAID OF THE MILL 

Mr. Vandeleur always drove fast. He liked to know that 
the poor countryman breaking stones on the road, or laying 
the fence by its side, looked after him as he flashed by, 
with stolid admiration on his dull face, and muttered, “ Ah ! 
there goos Squire Vandeleur, surelie ! ” On the present 
occasion his pace was even better than common, and the 
chestnuts laid themselves down to their work in a form 
that showed the two hundred guineas a-piece he had paid 
for them was not a shilling too much. He pulled them 
hack on their haunches, however, at a turn in the road, 
with a sudden energy that jerked his groom’s chin against 
the rail of the driving-seat, and stopped his carriage within 
three feet of a showily-dressed young woman, who was 
gathering wild-flowers off the hedge with a transparent 
affectation of unconsciousness that she was observed. 

“Why, Fanny,” said he, leaning out of the carriage to 
look under her bonnet, “ Fanny Draper, I thought you 
were in London, or Paris, at least ; — or gone to the devil 
before your time,” he added, in an undertone, between his 
teeth. 

The lady thus accosted put her hand to her side with a 
faint catching of the breath, as of one in weak health, 
whose nerves are unequal to a shock. She glanced up at 
him from under her eyelashes roguishly enough, however, 
while she replied — 

“ My I If it isn’t Squire Vandeleur ! I’m sure I never 
thought as you’d be the first person to meet me at my 
home-coming, and that’s the truth.” Here she dropped a 


40 


THE WHITE BOSE 


saucy little curtsey. “I hope you’ve kept your health, 
sir, since I see you last ! ” 

“ Much you care for that, you little devil ; ” replied 
Vandeleur, with a familiar laugh. ‘‘ My health is pretty 
good for an old one, and you look as handsome and as 
wicked as you ever did. So we needn’t pay each other any 
more unmeaning compliments. Here ! I’ve got something 
to say to you. Jump up, and I’ll give you a lift home to 
the mill.” 

The girl’s eyes sparkled, but she looked meaningly 
towards the groom at the horses’ heads, and back in his 
master’s face. 

“ Oh, never mind him ! ” exclaimed the latter, under- 
standing the glance. “If my servants don’t attend to 
their own business, at least they never trouble themselves 
about mine. Jump up, I tell you, and don’t keep that off- 
horse fretting all night.” 

She still demurred, though with an obvious intention of 
yielding at last. 

“ Suppose we should meet any of the neighbom’s, Mr. 
Vandeleur, or some of the gentlefolks coming home fi’om 
the archery. Why, whatever would they think of you and 
me ? ” 

“ Please yourself,” he answered, carelessly. “ Only it’s 
a long two miles to the mill, and I suppose you don’t want 
to wear those pretty little boots out faster than you can 
help. Come ! that’s a good girl. I thought you would. 
Sit tight now. Never mind your dress. I’ll tuck it in 
under the apron. Let ’em alone, Tom ! And off she goes 
again ! ” 

While he spoke, he stretched out his hand and helped 
her into the front seat by his side, taking especial care of 
the gaudy muslin skirt she wore. One word of encourage- 
ment was enough to make his horses dash freely at their 
collars, the groom jumped into his place like a harlequin, 
and the phaeton was again howling through the still 
summer evening at the rate of twelve miles an hour. 

When a tolerably popular person has earned a reputation 
for eccentricity, there is no end to the strange things he 
may do without provoking the censure, or even the com- 
ments, of his neighbours. Even had it not been the hoiii’ 


THE MAID OF THE MILL 


41 


at which most of them were dressing for dinner, there was 
little likelihood that Vandeleur would meet any of his 
friends in the lonely road that skirted his property, ere it 
brought him to the confines of his park ; but it is probable 
that even the most censorious, observing him driving a 
smartly-dressed person of the other sex in a lower grade of 
society than his own, would have made no more disparaging 
remark than that “ Vandeleur was such a queer fellow, you 
never knew exactly what he was at ! ” He drove on, there- 
fore, in perfect confidence, conversing very earnestly with 
his companion, though in such low tones that Tom’s sharp 
ears in the back seat could scarcely make out a syllable he 
said. She listened attentively enough ; more so, perhaps, 
than he had any right to expect, considering that her 
thoughts were distracted by the enviable situation in which 
she found herself, — driving in a real phaeton, by the side 
of a real gentleman, with a real servant in livery behind. 

Fanny Draper had occupied from her youth a position 
little calculated to improve either her good conduct or her 
good sense. She had been a village beauty almost as long 
as she could remember — ever since the time when she first 
began to do up her back-hair with a comb. The boys who 
sung in the choir made love to her when she went to the 
Sunday-school ; the young farmers paid her devoted atten- 
tion and quarrelled about her among themselves, the first 
day she ever attended a merry-making. She might have 
married a master-bricklayer at eighteen ; and by the time 
she went out to service, was as finished a coquette in her 
own way as if she had been a French Marquise at the 
Court of Louis Quatorze. 

Of course, to use the master-bricklayer’s expression, such 
a “ choice piece of goods ” as the miller’s daughter was 
above doing rough work, and the only situation she could 
think of taking was that of a lady’s-maid ; equally of 
course, she did not keep her first place three months, but 
returned to her father’s mill before the expiration of that 
period, with rings on her fingers, a large stock of new 
clothes, and a considerable accession of self-esteem. Also, 
it is needless to add, like all lady’s-maids ; under a solemn 
engagement to be married to a butler ! 

Poor old Draper didn’t know exactly what to make of 


42 


THE WHITE ROSE 


her. He had two sons doing well in his own business at 
the other end of England. He was a widower, Fanny was 
his only daughter, and the happiest day in the year to him 
was the one when she came home. Nevertheless, what 
with her watch, her rings, her white hands, her flowing 
dresses, and the number of followers she managed to collect 
about her even at the mill, the old man felt that she was 
too much for him, and that while she lived in it, the house 
never looked like his own. He admired her very much. 
He loved her very dearly. He seldom contradicted her ; 
but he always smoked an extra pipe the night she went 
away, and yet he dreaded the time when she should make 
a sensible marriage (perhaps with the butler), and be ‘‘off 
his hands,” as he expressed it, “ for good and all.” 

Ripley Mill was but a little way from Oakover. It is not 
to be supposed that so comely a young woman as the 
miller’s daughter escaped Mr. Vandelem*’s observation. 
She took good care to throw herself in his way on every 
possible occasion, and the Squire, as her father called him, 
treated her with that sort of good-humom-ed, condescend- 
ing, offensive familiarity, which, men seem to forget, is the 
worst possible compliment to any woman high or low. 
That Miss Draper’s vanity ever led her to believe that she 
could captivate the Squire is more than I will take upon me 
to assert, but no doubt it was flattered by the trifling 
attentions he sometimes paid her ; and she had been heard 
to observe more than once amongst her intimates, that 
“ the Squire was quite the gentleman, and let alone his 
appearance, which was neither here nor there, his manners 
would always make him a prime favourite with the ladies,” 
invariably adding that, “for her part, the Squire knew his 
place, and she knew hers.” 

The pace at which Vandeleur drove soon brought them 
to a certain stile, over which Miss Fanny had leant many a 
time in prolonged interviews with different rustic lovers, 
and which was removed but by one narrow orchard from her 
father’s mill. Short as was the time, however, the driver 
seemed to have made the most of it, for his companion’s 
face looked flushed and agitated when she got down. A 
perceptible shade of disappointment, and even vexation, 
clouded her brow, while the voice in which she bade him 


THE MAID OF THE MILL 


43 


“ Good evening,” betrayed a certain amount of pique and 
ill-humour bravely kept under. Vandeleur’s tone, on the 
contrary, was confident and cheerful as usual. 

‘‘It’s a bargain then,” said he, releasing her hand, as 
she sprang on the foot-path from the top of the front wheel. 
“I can depend upon you, can’t I? to do your best or 
worst ; and your worst with that pretty face of yours would 
tackle a much more difficult job than this. Honour, Miss 
Fanny ! If you’ll keep your word, you know I’ll keep 
mine.” 

“ Honour, Squire,” replied she, with a forced smile that 
maiTed the comeliness of all the lower part of her face. 
“ But you’re in a desperate hurry ! A week isn’t much 
time, now, is it? to finish a young gentleman right off.” 

“ Those bright eyes of yours finished an old gentleman 
right off in a day,” answered Vandeleur, laughing. “Good- 
night, my dear, and stick to your bargain.” 

Before she was over the stile, his phaeton had turned a 
corner in the lane, and was out of sight. 

Miss Draper took her bonnet off, and dangled it by the 
strings while the cool evening air breathed on her forehead 
and lifted her jetty locks. She was a pretty girl, no doubt, 
of a style by no means uncommon in her class. Dark eyes, 
high colour, irregular features, with a good deal of play in 
them, a large laughing mouth, and a capital set of teeth, 
made up a face that people turned round to look at in 
market-places, or on high-roads, and her figure, as she 
herself boasted, required “ no making up, with as little 
dressing as most people’s, provided only her things was 
good of their kind.” Yes, she was a handsome girl, and 
though her vanity had received a considerable shock, she 
did not doubt it even now. 

After a few seconds’ thought, her irritation seemed to 
subside. Circumstances had for some years forced Miss 
Draper’s mind to take a practical turn. Flattered vanity 
was a pleasing sensation, she admitted, but tangible 
advantage was the thing after all. 

“Now whatever can the Squire be driving at?” solilo- 
quised his late companion, as threading the apple-trees she 
came within hearing of the familiar mill. “ There’s some- 
thing behind all this, and I’ll be at the back of it as sure as 


44 


THE WHITE ROSE 


my name’s Fanny ! He’s a deep ’iin, is the Squire, but he’s 
a gentleman, I will say that ! Quite the gentleman, he is ! 
Ten pounds down. Let me see, that will pay for the two 
bonnets, and as much as I ever will pay of Mrs. Markham’s 
bill. And twenty more if it all comes off right, within a 
month. Twenty pounds is a good deal of money ! Yes, 
I always did uphold as the Squire were quite the gentleman.” 

She arrived simultaneously with this happy conclusion at 
the door of her paternal home, and the welcome of her 
father’s professionally dusty embrace. 

Vandeleur was not long in reaching Oakover, and 
commencing his toilet, which progressed rapidly, like 
everything else he did, without his appearing to hurry 
it. At a sufficiently advanced stage he rang for his 
valet. “Anybody come yet?” asked the host, tying 
a white neckcloth with the utmost precision. 

“ Sir Thomas Boulder, Colonel and Mrs. Waring, Lady 
Baker, Mrs. and Miss St. Denys, Major Blades, Captain 
Coverley, and Mr. Creen,” answered the well-drilled valet 
without faltering. 

“ Nobody else expected, is there ? ” was the next question, 
while his master pulled the bows to equal length. 

“Dinner was ordered for ten, sir,” answered his servant. 

“Been here long?” asked Vandeleur, buttoning the 
watchchain into his waistcoat. 

“About three- quai*ters of an hour, sir,” was the im- 
perturbable reply. 

“Very good. Then get dinner in five minutes! ” and 
although nine hungry guests were waiting for him, 
Vandeleur employed that five minutes in writing a letter 
to a great nobleman, with whom he was on intimate 
terms. 

While he ordered a man and horse to gallop off with 
it at once to the nearest post-town, in time for the night 
mail, he read the following lines over with a satisfied 
expression of countenance, and rather an evil smile. 

“ My dear Lord, — You can do me a favour, and I 
know I have only to ask it. I want a commission for 
a young friend of mine, as soon as ever it can be got. 
I believe he is quite ready for examination, or whatever 


^HE MAID OF THE MILL 


45 


you call the farce these young ones have to enact now- 
a-days. In our time people were not so particular about 
anything. Still I think you and I do pretty much as we 
like, and can’t complain. On a slip of paper I enclose the 
young one’s name and address. The sooner, for his own 
sake, we get him out of England the better, — and where 
he goes afterwards nobody cares a curse ! You understand. 

“ Don’t forget I expect you early next month, and vill 
make sure there is a pleasant party to meet you. 

‘‘ Ever yours, 

“ J. Vandeleur.” 

Not a bad day’s work altogether,” muttered the 
writer, as he stuck a stamp on the envelope, and went 
down to dinner. 


CHAPTER VI 

GRINDING 

In pursuance of her bargain with Mr. Vandeleur, whatever 
it may have been, Fanny Draper attired herself in a very 
becoming dress after her one o’clock dinner on the following 
day, and proceeded to take an accidental stroll in the 
direction of Mr. Archer’s house, which was hut a few 
hundred yards distant from the village of Ripley. 

Disinclined either to make fresh conquests or to meet 
old admirers, both contingencies being equally inconvenient 
at present, she followed a narrow lane skirting the hacks of 
certain cottages, which brought her opposite the gate of 
Mr. Archer’s garden at the exact moment when Dandy 
Burton, having finished his studies for the day, put a cigar 
into his mouth, as a light and temperate substitute for 
luncheon, the Dandy — whose figure was remarkably sym- 
metrical — being already afraid of losing his waist. Miss 
Draper, as she would have expressed herself, “ took more 
than one good look at him before she played her first 
card ; ” for the hawk, though unhooded, so to speak, 
and flung aloft, had not yet made quite sure of her 
quarry, and, except as a question of wholesome practice, 
it would be a pity to waste much blandishment upon the 
wrong young gentleman. So she scanned him carefully 
before she pounced, approving much of what she saw. 

Dandy Burton was tall, well-made, and undoubtedly 
good-looking, with an air, extremely becoming when 
people are not yet twenty, of being over his real age. 
His face was very nearly handsome, hut there was some- 
thing wanting in its expression, and a woman’s eye would 

46 


GBINDING 


47 


have preferred many a plainer countenance which carried 
a more marked impress of the man within. 

Even Fanny was conscious of this defect at a second 
glance. It made her part, she reflected, all the easier 
to play. So gathering some violets from the hedge-side, 
she tied them coquettishly into a posy, and then, dropping 
a curtsey, shot a killing glance at the Dandy, while she 
observed, demurely enough — 

“ One of Mr. Archer’s young gentlemen, I believe ? I’m 
sure I ask your pardon, sir, if you’re not.” 

Dandy Burton, thus challenged, ranged up alongside. 

“ I am staying with Mr. Archer at present,” said he, 
removing the cigar from his mouth and making a faint 
snatch at his round shooting hat. “ Did you want to 
speak to any of us ? I beg yom* pardon — I mean, can I be 
of any service to you before Mr. Ai-cher goes out 7 ” 

With all the savoir-vivre he used to boast of in the 
pupil-room, Mr. Burton was a little puzzled. She was 
good-looking, she was well got-up, yet something in his 
instincts told him she was not quite a lady after all.” 

‘‘ It’s not Mr. Archer,” she answered, with a becoming 
little blush and a laugh : it’s the young gentleman as 
father hade me leave a message for — father, down at 
Ripley Mill, you know, sir.” 

“ Bad English. Talks of ‘ father ’ and calls me ‘ sir,’ ” 
thought the Dandy, his confidence returning at once. 

All right, my dear,” he answered, replacing the cigar 
in his mouth, and crossing the road to her side ; I know 
Ripley Mill well enough, and I know ‘ father,’ as you call 
him, meaning, I suppose, my friend Mr. Draper ; but I did 
not know he’d got such a little duck of a daughter. I wish 
I’d found it out, though, six months ago — I do, upon my 
honour ! ” 

Well, I’m sure ! ” replied Miss Fanny, in no way 
taken aback by the familiar tone of admiration, to which 
she was well-accustomed. “ You gentlemen are so given 
to compliments, there’s no believing a word you say. I 
should like to hear, now, what good it would have done you 
if vou had known as I was down at the Mill six months 
ago.” 

“ I should have walked over there every day, on the 


48 


THE WHITE BOSE 


chance of seeing your pretty face ! ” answered the Dandy, 
rising, as he flattered himself, to the occasion. 

“You wouldn’t have found me,” she laughed; “I’ve 
been in London since then. I only came home for good 
yesterday evening.” 

“ Then I shall spend all my spare time at the Mill now, 
till I go away,” retorted Burton, rolling the wet end of 
his cigar with his best air. 

“Are you going away so soon?” she said, looking 
rather anxiously into his face. 

“ Decidedly,” thought the Dandy, “ this is a case of love 
at first sight. It’s deuced odd, too. I am not much used 
to their ways, and it’s just possible she may be gammoning 
a fellow all the time. Never mind ! two can play at that 
game, so here goes ? ” 

“ Not unless you’ll come with me,” he exclaimed 
affectionately. “ Since I’ve seen you. Miss Draper, for 
I suppose you are Miss Draper, I couldn’t bear to leave 
you. Now, touching this message. Ai’e you quite sure 
you have brought it all this way without spilling any 
of it?” 

“ I’m not one as isn’t to be trusted,” answered the 
lady, meaningly, motioning him at the same time to 
walk a little farther down the lane, out of sight of Mr. 
Archer’s top windows. “ They say as women can’t keep 
secrets — I wish somebody would try me. It’s not in my 
nature to deceive. There, what a fool I am, to go talking 
on to a gentleman like you, and I never set eyes on you 
before.” 

“ But you’ll let me come and see you down at the 
Mill ? ” said he ; “it is but a step, you know, from here. 
I could easily be there every day about this time.” 

“ And I should like to know what father would say ! ” 
interposed Miss Fanny, with a sudden access of propriety. 

‘ ‘ I ought to have been hack with father now, and here 
I am, putting off my time talking to you, and — there, I 
declare, I’m quite ashamed. I don’t even know your name. 
It’s Mr. Ainslie, isn’t it? ” 

Burton laughed. 

“ Wliy do you think it’s Ainslie ? ” 

“ Because they told me as Mr. Ainslie was the only 


GRINDING 


49 


gi’own-up gentleman here,” she answered, hazarding a 
supposition that could not fail to he favourably received, 
and flattering herself she was going on swimmingly. 

The Dandy, however, did not see the advantage of 
being taken for his friend, and thought it right to 
undeceive his new flame without delay. 

“ My name’s Burton,” he said, rather conceitedly. 
“ Ainslie’s a shorter chap, with darker hair and eyes — 

altogether, not quite so — not quite so ” he hesitated, 

for, though vain, he was not a fool. 

“ Not quite so much of a ladies’ man, I daresay ! ” She 
finished his sentence for him with a laugh, to cover her 
own vexation, for she felt she had been wasting time 
sadly. ‘‘ I don’t think you’re one as is ever likely to he 
mistook for somebody else. I must wish you good day 
now, sir. It’s more than time I was back. I couldn’t 
stay another minute if it was ever so.” 

She was a little disappointed at his ready acquiescence. 

‘‘ And your message ? ” he asked, lighting a fresh cigar. 

“ It was only father’s duty,” she answered. “ I was to 
tell the young gentlemen they’re welcome to a day’s 
fishing above Kipley Lock to-morrow, if they like to 
come, and there ought to be some sport for ’em, says 
father, if the wind keeps southerly.” 

“We’ll he there!” answered the Dandy, joyfully. 
“And I say, how about luncheon? You'll bring it us, 
won’t you, from the Mill?” 

“For how many?” asked Miss Fanny; thinking, 
perhaps, it might not he a bad plan. 

“Well, there’s three of us!” answered the Dandy. 
“Dolly, and Ainslie, and me. Better bring enough for 
four, Miss Draper. It’s not every day in the week I do 
such things. Besides, you’ll sit down with us, you know, 
or we shan’t he able to eat a morsel.” 

She tossed her head. “Indeed, you’re very kind,” she 
said. “ Well, if you’re all coming. I’ll attend to it, and 
perhaps bring it you myself. No, sir ! not a step further. 
I couldn’t think of walking through the village with you. 
What would Mr. Archer say ? Thank you ; I can take very 
good care of myself? ” 

Thus parrying the Dandy’s importunities, who, having 
4 


50 


THE WHITE BOSE 


nothing better to do, proposed a lounge down to the Mill in 
her company, Miss Draper proceeded on her homeward 
journey, only turning round when she had gone a few 
steps to comply with his entreaties that she would give him 
her lately-gathered posy. 

“ You’ll chuck us the violets, at least,” said this young 
gentleman in a plaintive tone. 

‘‘ Yes ; I don’t want the violets,” she answered, not very 
graciously, and whisking past the turn by the baker’s, w^as 
soon out of sight. 

Dandy Burton was so elated with this, his last conquest, 
that he did not even wait to finish his cigar, but throwing 
it away, returned hastily to the pupil-room in order to 
catch his companions before they went out. 

He was lucky enough to find them both still in their 
studies; Gerald Ainslie struggling hard with “unknown 
quantities,” and Dolly puzzling over the discovery of 
America, an era of history inseparable, in his own mind, 
from the destruction of the Spanish Armada. Burton had 
no scruple in disturbing them. 

“ Look there you chaps ! ” said he, throwing Fanny 
Draper’s violets on the study-table. “ That’s the way 
to do it ! A fellow can’t even smoke a quiet weed in these 
diggings, but he’s pelted in again with flowers ! Now I 
don’t mind laying odds, neither of you can tell in three 
guesses where these came fi-om.” 

“Don’t bother!” answered Ainslie, looking up im- 
patiently, and diving once more head-foremost into his 
algebra. 

“ Some flowerets of Eden we still inherit, 

But the trail of the Dandy is over them all 1 ” 


quoted Dolly, shutting up his English History with a sigh 
of relief. “ Why, they were given you by ‘ some village 
maiden who with dauntless breast ’ was determined on 
making you a greater fool, my beloved Dandy, than 
nature and Archer combined can accomplish — if such a 
feat were, indeed, possible. They can’t let him alone, 
ochone ! Every institution has its show-man you know, 
Jerry, and the Dandy is ours!” 


GRINDING 


51 


Gerard did not think it worth while to answer; and 
Burton, on whose good-humoured self-conceit the arrows 
of chaff rained harmless, replied, “ Wouldn’t you like it 
yourself, Dolly ? Never mind, my boy. Every chap must 
paddle his own canoe. We all have different gifts, you 
know.” 

“ Very true,” replied Dolly. “ Dress and deportment 
are yours; light literature, I think, is mine; and,” sink- 
ing his voice while he jerked his head towards Ainslie, 
“love and logarithms are his!” 

“ Wake up, Jerry I ” exclaimed Burton, “ and answer this 
slanderous accusation. Of logarithms we acquit you at 
once, and surely you are not soft enough to be in love!” 

Ainslie reddened. “ Well,” he said, keeping down his 
confusion, “I suppose a fellow may have ‘a spoon ’ if he 
likes.” 

“ A spoon ! ” exclaimed Dolly. “ A regular soup-ladle ! 
He’s got all the symptoms — ^premonitory, sympathetic, and 
confirmed. 

There is even a space for the ghost of her face in this narrow pupil-room, 
And Archer is blind, and the Dandy’s a fool, and Jerry has met with his 

doom.” 

“ What nonsense you talk ! ” retorted Ainslie, angrily. 
“ At all events, I don’t pick a handful of violets to flash 
them down on the study-table, and swear they were given 
me by a duchess five minutes ago. Hang it ; mine should 
he a better swagger than that. I’d have roses or pinks, or 
a bunch of hot-house flowers, when I was about it.” 

“ A primrose on the river’s brim, 

A yellow primrose is to him. 

And in he goes to sink or swim,” 

observed Dolly. “ One flower is as good as another, if it’s 
offered by the right party. Now I know where Dandy got 
these. They were given him by the cook. She picks them 
for the salad, and puts them in with what she calls ‘ garnish- 
ing ’ — slugs, egg-shell, and bits of gravel.” 

“ You know nothing about it, Dolly ! ” exclaimed Ainslie. 
“ This isn’t a salad-day. No ; it’s a keepsake from Mother 


62 


THE WHITE ROSE 


Markham, — milliner and modiste. She’s repaired Dandy’s 
stays ever so often since he came.” 

“ You’re wrong, both of you,” said the imperturbable 
Dandy. “ They were given me by Miss Draper — Miss 
Fanny Draper, of Kipley Mill — now then ! A young lady 
neither of you have ever seen ; and a deuced pretty girl too. 
What’s more, she asked if my name wasn’t Ainslie ? ” 

Again Gerard blushed, and this time without cause. 

“ A most improbable story,” remarked Dolly. “ Ainslie’ s 
engaged. If she’d said Egremont, I could have believed it. 
This requires confirmation.” 

“ I can prove it fast enough,” answered Burton. “ Old 
‘ Grits ’ wants us all to go down and fish at the Upper Lock 
to-morrow. It won’t he had fun. I vote we go, if Nobs 
will stand it. He must let us out at twelve o’clock.” 

“ You’d better ask him, Dolly,” said Gerard. “ Here he 
comes ! ” 

While the latter spoke, Mr. Archer entered the pupil-room 
with a listless air, and rather a weary step. Truth to tell, 
he was a little tired of the ever-recurring round which in 
the slang of to-day is not inappropriately termed a “grind.” 
It paid him well, as he often said to himself, or it would be 
unbearable. Like the treadmill, or any such penal labour, 
it was hard work with no visible result. One pupil after 
another was indeed turned out, just able to squeeze through 
his examination, as a chair or table is finished off to order 
by a carpenter ; but that result attained, the master’s duty 
was done by his disciple, and he had no further interest in 
the latter’s progress or subsequent career. Slow and quick, 
stupid and clever, all had to be brought up to exactly 
the same standard, — the former required more time and 
pains than the latter, that was the whole difference. 
One can scarcely conceive a more uninteresting phase of 
tutorship. 

Archer had made an improvident marriage and a very 
happy one ; had sold out of the Army in consequence, and 
had been glad to augment his slender income by fitting 
young men for the profession he had left. But his wife 
died early and with her the stimulus to exertion was gone. 
He had no children, and few friends. Altogether it was 
weary work. 


ghinding 


63 


If the necessary amount of study could be got through in 
the week, a holiday was even a greater relief to tutor than 
pupils ; and with a stipulation to that effect, he willingly 
granted Dolly’s request that they should all start on their 
fishing excursion next day at twelve o’clock. 


CHAPTER yil 
A cat’s-paw 

Old “ Grits,” as his familiars called that very respectable 
miller, Mr. Draper, liked to have his breakfast early — really 
early; meaning thereby somewhere about sunrise. This 
entailed getting up in the dark on such of his household as 
prepared that meal, and Miss Fanny entertained the 
greatest objection to getting up in the dark. Consequently, 
as they breakfasted together — for on this the miller insisted 
while she stayed with him — both father and daughter were 
put out from their usual habits. The hour was too early 
for her, too late for him. He was hungry and snappish, 
she was hurried and cross. Whatever differences of opinion 
they entertained were more freely discussed, and more 
stoutly upheld at this, than at any other hour of the twenty- 
four. 

It is a great thing to begin the day in good humour ; and 
that woman is wise, be she mother, wife, or daughter, who 
brings a smiling face down to breakfast ere the toast becomes 
sodden and the tea cold; who, if she has disagreeable 
intelligence to communicate, grievances to detail, or 
complaints to make, puts them off till the things have been 
taken away, and an evil can be confronted in that spirit of 
good-will and good-humour which robs it of half its force. 
Put man, woman, or child, or even a dumb animal, wrong 
the first thing in the morning, and the equanimity thus lost 
is seldom restored till late in the afternoon. Grits and 
Fanny both knew this well by experience, yet they had then- 
say out just the same. 

“ Now Fan !” grunted the miller, walking heavily into 


A CArS-FAW 


55 


their little parlour, with a cloud of yesterday’s flour rising 
from his clothes. “Look alive, girl! Come — bustle, 
hustle ! It’s gone six o’clock.” 

“Why father, how you keep on worriting !” replied a 
voice from an inner chamber, constrained and indistinct, 
as of one who is fastening her stays, with hair-pins in 
her mouth. 

“ Worriting indeed 1 ” retorted Mr. Draper. “ It’s been 
broad daylight for more than an hour. I should like to 
know how a man is to get his work done, if his breakfast 
has to be put back till nigh dinner-time. These may be 
quality manners, lass ; but blow me if they suits us down 
here at Eipley ! ” 

“ Blow your tea, father — that’s what you’ve got to blow,” 
replied Miss Fanny, who had now emerged from her tiring- 
room only half-dressed, pouring him out a cup so hot that 
it was transferred, to be operated on as she suggested, 
into the saucer. “I do believe now, if it wasn’t for me 
coming here to stop with you at odd times, you’d get your 
breakfast so early as it would interfere with your supper 
over-night I ” 

The miller was busy mth thick bread-and-butter. A 
growl was his only reply. Miss Fanny looked out of the 
window thoughtfully, drank a little tea, shot a doubtful 
glance at her papa, and hazarded the following harmless 
question : — 

“It’s a dull morning, father. Do you think it will 
hold up — ^you that knows the weather so well at Ripley ? ” 

It pleased him to be esteemed wise on such matters, and 
the hot tea had put him in a better humour. 

“Hold up, lass?” he answered, cheerfully; “why 
shouldn’t it hold up ? Even with a south wind, these 
here grey mornings doesn’t often turn to rain. You may 
put your best bonnet on to-day. Fan, never fear I ” 

“ Then, if that’s the case. I’ll get the house-work over 
in good time ; and I think I won’t be back to dinner, father,” 
said his daughter resolutely, as anticipating objection. 

But for its coating of flour the miller’s face would have 
darkened. 

“ Not back to dinner. Fan 1 and why not? Where may 
you be going, lass, if I may make so bold as ask ? ” 


56 


THE WHITE BOSE 


She hesitated a moment, and then observed very 
demui’ely — 

“ I took your message to Mr. Archer’s yesterday, and 
the young gentlemen’s coming dovm to fish, as you kindly 
invited of ’em ” 

“I know — I know,” said he. ‘‘Well, lass, and what 
then? ” 

“ They’re to be at water-side by twelve o’clock, and 
I’ll engage they’ll keep on till sun-down. Poor little chaps ! 
They’ll be wanting their dinners, and I thought I’d best 
step out and take ’em some.” 

“ Poor little chaps ! ” repeated the miller. “ Why, one 
of ’em’s six feet high, and t’other ’s nigh twenty years old; 
and Mr. Egremont — that’s him as comes down by times 
for a smoke here — well, he’ll pull down as heavy a weight 
as I can ; and I daresay, for his years, he’s nigh as 
sensible. They’re grown-up young gentlemen, Fan, 
every man of ’em.” 

“ They’ll want their dinners all the same,” answered 
Fan. 

“ And they’ll want you to take ’em their dinners, I dare- 
say ; and want must be their master ! ” replied the miUer. 
“I don’t like it. Fan, I tell ’ee — I don’t like it. What 
call have you to go more nor a mile up water-side after 
three young sparks like them ? I may be behind the 
times. Fan — I daresay as I am ; but it can’t he right. I 
don’t like it, I tell ’ee, lass, and I won’t have it ! ” 

“ I’m not a child, father,” answered the girl in perfect 
good-humour. “ I should think I can take care of myself 
in uglier places than Ripley Lock ; and I was going on to 
see the house-keeper at Oakover, whether or no. However, 
if you think well. I’ll send Jane with the basket ; only 
she’s wanted in the house, let alone that she’s young and 
giddy; and if I was you, father, I’d sooner trust me nor 
her.” 

“I can get serving-lasses by the score,” answered old 
Draper very gruffly, because a tear was twinkling in the 
corner of his eye, “ but I have only one daughter. I’ve 
been a kind father to you. Fan, ever since you and me 
used to watch the big wheel together when you was too 
little to go up the mill-steps. Don’t ye come a-flyin’ in 


A OArS-PAW 


57 


my face because you’ve growed up into a fine likely young 
woman — don’t ye now ! ” 

She was touched ; she couldn’t help it. She went romid 
the table, and put her hand on the old man’s shoulder. 
For the moment she was willing to be a dutiful and affec- 
tionate child. 

You have been a kind old daddy,” she said, turning 
his dusty face up to kiss it ; “ and I wouldn’t vex you for 
that kettlefull of gold. But you won’t mind my stepping 
across to Oakover — now, will you, father? And I’ll be 
sure to come back and give you your tea.” 

She knew exactly how to manage him. 

“ You’re a good lass, I do believe,” said he, rising from 
the table, and a sensible one, too ; maybe, more nor I 
think for. Well, there’ll be no harm in your taking a basket 
of prog, and leaving it at the Lock for them young chaps. 
But don’t ye go a-fishin’ along of ’em, there’s a good lass ! 
Folk will talk, my dear. Why, they’ll hardly let me alone 
when I give Widow Bolt a lift home from market in the 
cart. Now, hand us a light for the pipe. Fan. I’ve said 
my say, so I’m off to my work; and I’ll leave you to 
yours.” 

But Mr. Draper shook his head, nevertheless, while he 
walked round by the mill-sluice, smoking thoughtfully. 

She’s wilful,” he muttered — ‘‘ wilful ; and so was her 
mother. Most on ’em ’s wilful, as I see. I’m thankful 
the boys is doing so well. They’re good sons to me, they 
are. And yet — and yet I’d sooner both on ’em was sold 
up — I’d sooner see the river run dry, and the mill stop 
work — I’d sooner lose the close, and the meadow, and the 
house, and the stock — than that anything should go wrong 
with little Fan ! ” 

Little Fan in the meantime, having gained her point, 
was in high good-humom*. She sang merrily over what 
trifling work she chose to do about the house, abstaining 
from harsh words to Jane, who whenever she had a spare 
moment seemed to be peeling potatoes. She packed a 
basket with eatables, and filled a bottle with wine, for the 
anglers. Then she attired herself in a very becoming dress, 
put on a pair of well-fitting gloves, not quite new, just like 
a real lady’s, she told herself, and crowned the whole with 


58 


THE WHITE ROSE 


a killing little bonnet. Anybody meeting Miss Draper as 
she sauntered leisurely along the river-side with her basket 
in her hand would have taken her for the Kector’s young 
wife, or the Squire’s daughter at the least. 

Even the anglers were something dazzled by this brilliant 
apparition. Burton, proud of his acquaintance made the 
day before, felt yet a little abashed by so fascinating an 
exterior. Ainslie scanned her attentively, but this, I 
imagine, chiefly because her bonnet reminded him of 
Norah’s ; while Dolly, who was getting very hungry, took 
off his hat with a polite bow, observing in a low voice, for 
the benefit of his companions — 

“ It was the miller’s daughter, 

And she stoppeth one of three, 

On the banks of Allan-water — 

How I wish that it was me ! ” 

Miss Draper’s deportment in presence of three strange 
young gentlemen was a model of propriety and good taste. 
She simply vouchsafed a curtsey, to be divided amongst 
them ; offered her father’s good wishes for their sport ; and 
proceeded to unpack her basket without delay. “For,” 
said she, “I have no time to spare. I am going a little 
farther up-stream on an errand, and will call for the basket 
as I come back.” Nevertheless, though her eyes seemed 
fastened on her occupation, she had scanned each of them 
from top to toe in two minutes, and learned the precise 
natiu’e of the ground on which she was about to manoeuvre. 

Burton’s name she had already learnt. One glance at 
Dolly Egremont’s jolly face satisfied her that with him she 
could have no concern. It must be the slim, well-made 
lad with the dark eyes and pleasant smile, whom she 
had engaged to subjugate. No disagreeable duty neither, 
thought Miss Fanny ; so she set about it with a will. 

Leaving her basket in charge of Dolly, who pledged 
himself with great earnestness for its safety, she walked 
leisurely up-stream, and was pleased to observe that the 
three anglers separated at once ; his two companions 
choosing different sides of the river below the mill, while 
Gerard Ainslie followed the upward bend of the stream, not 
having yet put his rod together, nor unwound the casting- 


A CAT'S-FAW 


59 


line from his hat. He was thinking but little of his 
fishing, this infatuated young man ; certainly not the least 
of Miss Fanny Draper. No, the gleam on the water, the 
whisper of the sedges, the swallows dipping and wheeling 
at his feet, all the soft harmony of the landscape, all the 
tender beauty of the early summer, — what were these but 
the embodiment of his ideal ? And his ideal, he fancied, 
was far away yonder, across the marshes, thinking, perhaps, 
at that very moment, of him ! She was not across the 
marshes, as we shall presently see, but within half a mile 
of where he stood. Nevertheless, what would love be 
without illusion ? And is not the illusion a necessary 
condition of the love? Look at a soap-bubble glowing 
in the richest tints of all the gems of earth and sea. Pre- 
sently, behold, it bursts. What becomes of the tints ? and 
where, oh ! where is the bubble ? 

Gerard was roused from his dreams by the rustle of a 
feminine garment, and the sudden appearance of the miller’s 
daughter lying in wait for him at the very first stile he had 
to cross. She knew better than to give a little half-sup- 
pressed start, as when she met Vandeleur, or to display 
any of the affectations indulged in by young women of her 
class ; for, wherever she picked it up. Miss Draper had 
acquired considerable knowledge of masculine nature, and 
was well aware that while timidity and innocence are 
efficient weapons against the old, there is nothing like cool 
superiority to overawe and impose upon the young. 

She took his rod out of his hand, as a matter of course, 
while he vaulted the stile, and observed quietly — “ I saw 
you coming, Mr. Anslie, and so I waited for yo.u. I 
suppose as you’re not much acquainted with our river ; 
there’s a pool, scarce twenty yards below the bridge, 
yonder, where you’ll catch a basket of fish in ten minutes, 
if you’ve any luck.” 

She looked very pretty in the gleams of sunlight with 
her heightened colom’, and her black hair set off by the 
transparency she called a bonnet. Even to a man in love 
she was no despicable companion for an hour’s fly- 
fishing; and Gerard thanked her heartily, asking her if 
their ways lay together, to walk on with him, and point out 
the place. His smile was very winning, his voice low and 


60 


THE WHITE BOSE 


pleasant, his manner to women soft and deferential — such 
a manner as comes amiss with neither high nor low : to a 
duchess, fascinating, to a dairy-maid, simply irresistible. 
Miss Draper stole a look at him from under her black eye- 
lashes, and liked her job more and more. 

“I’ll come with you, and welcome,” said she, frankly. 
“ The walk’s nothing to me ; I’m used to walking. I’m a 
country-bred girl, you know, Mr. Ainslie, though I’ve seen 
a deal of life since I left the Mill.” 

“ Then you don’t live at the Mill ? ” said Gerard, 
absently, for that unlucky bonnet had taken his thoughts 
across the marshes again. 

“ I do when I’m at home,” she answered, “ but I’m not 
often at home. I’ve got my own bread to make, Mr. 
Ainslie, if I don’t want to be a burden to father. And 
I don’t neither. I’m not like a real lady, you know, that 
can sit with her hands before her, and do nothing. 
But you mustn’t think the worse of me for that, must 
you?” 

“ Of course not ! ” he answered, as what else could he 
answer? wondering the while why this handsome black- 
eyed girl should thus have selected him from his com- 
panions for her confidences. 

“ I shouldn’t be here now,” she continued, “if it wasn’t 
to see how father gets on. There’s nothing but father to 
bring me hack to such a dull place as Ripley. Yet, dull 
as it is, I can tell you, Mr. Ainslie, you must mind what 
you’re at if you don’t want to he talked about ! ” 

“ I suppose you and I would be talked about now,” said 
he, laughing, “if we could be seen.” 

“ I don’t mind, if you don’t! ” she answered, looking full 
in his eyes. “Well, our walk’s over now, at any rate. 
There’s the bridge, and here’s the pool. I’ve seen my 
brothers stand on that stone, and pull ’em out a dozen in 
an hour I ” 

There was something of regret in her tone when she 
announced the termination of their walk that was suffi- 
ciently pleasant to his ear. He could not help looking 
gratified, and she saw it; so she added, “If you’ll put 
your rod together. I’ll sort your tackle the while. They’ve 
queer fancies, have our fish, all the way from here to Ripley 




“They were fairly tied together by the ears.’’ 


The White Rose ] 


[Page 61 



A CAT’S-FAW 


61 


Lock ; and they won’t always take the same fly you see on 
the water. They’re feeding now — look ! ” 

So the two sat down together on a large stone under a 
willow, with the stream rippling at their feet, and the 
hungry trout leaping like rain-drops, all across its surface 
— in the shadow of the opposite bank, in the pool by the 
water-lilies, under the midMe arch of the bridge, everywhere 
just beyond the compass of a trout-rod and its usual length 
of line. Gerard’s eye began to glisten, for he was a 
fisherman to the backbone. He had put his rod together, 
and was running the tackle through its top joint when his 
companion started and turned pale. 

“ Is that thunder? ” said she. “ Listen ! ” 

‘‘Thunder!” repeated the busy sportsman, contemp- 
tuously. “ Pooh I nonsense 1 It’s only a carriage.” 

Miss Draper was really afraid of thunder, and felt much 
relieved. 

“Haven’t you a green drake?” she asked, hunting 
busily over his fly-book for that killing artifice. 

He stooped low to help her, and one of the hooks in the 
casting-line round his hat caught in her pretty little bonnet. 
They were fairly tied together by the ears, a position that, 
without being at all unpleasant, was ridiculous in the 
extreme. She smiled sweetly in the comely face so close 
to her own, and both burst out laughing. At that moment 
a pony-carriage was driven rapidly across the bridge imme- 
diately over against them. Gerard’s head was turned 
away, but its occupants must have had a full view of the 
situation, and an excellent opportunity of identifying the 
laughers. The lady who drove it immediately lashed her 
ponies into a gallop, bowing her head low over her hands 
as if in pain. 

Gerard sprang to his feet. 

“Did you see that carriage. Miss Draper?” he ex- 
claimed hurriedly. “Had it a pair of cream-colom-ed 
ponies ? ” 

“ Cream-coloured ponies ! ” repeated Fanny, innocently. 
“ I believe they was. I think as it were Miss Welby, from 
Marston Kectory.” 

His violent start had broken the casting-line, and he 
was free. Like a deer, he sprang off in pursuit of the 


62 


THE WHITE BOSE 


carriage, running at top-speed for nearly a quarter of a 
mile. But the cream-coloured ponies were in good condition 
and well-bred, — with a sore and jealous heart immediately 
behind them, which controlled, moreover, a serviceable 
driving-whip. He could never overtake them, but laid 
himself down panting and exhausted on the grass by the 
road-side, after a two-mile chase. 

When Gerard went hack for his rod. Miss Draper was 
gone ; but he had no heart for any more fishing the rest of 
that afternoon. 


CHAPTER VIII 


HOT CHESTNUTS 

Astounded at her companion’s unceremonious departure, 
the miller’s daughter stood for a while motionless, her 
bright face darkening into an expression of vexation, not to 
say disgust. Half-immersed, the neglected trout-rod lay 
at her feet, paying its line out slowly to the gentle action 
of the stream. Something in the click of the reel perhaps 
aroused the thriftier instincts of her nature. She stooped 
to extricate rod and tackle with no unpractised hand, laid 
them on the bank ready for his return, and then sat down 
again to think. Till within the last few minutes Miss 
Draper had been well pleased. Not averse to flirting, she 
would have consented, no doubt, to take in hand any of 
Mr. Archer’s young gentlemen ; but her walk with Gerard 
Ainslie, though shorter, was also sweeter than she expected. 
The reflnement of his tone, his gestures, his manner 
altogether, was extremely fascinating, because so unlike 
anything to which she was accustomed. “He’s not so 
handsome as t’other,” soliloquised Miss Draper, “for I 
make no count of the fat one ” (thus putting Dolly igno- 
miniously out of the race), “ but his hair is as soft as 
a lady’s, and his eyes is like velvet. He’s a nice chap, 
that ! but whatever made him start away like mad after 
Miss Welby and her pony-carriage ? I wonder whether 
he’ll come back again. I wonder what odds it makes to 
me whether he comes back or no ? Well, I’ve no call to 
be at the mill till tea-time. I’ll just step on and gather a 
few violets at Ashbank. Perhaps the young man would 
like a posy to take with him when he goes home ! ” 


64 


THE WHITE BOSE 


She recollected, almost with shame, how willingly she 
had given away another posy of violets to his fellow-pupil 
so short a time ago. 

Ashbank was a narrow belt of wood separating the meadow 
from the high-road. She had gathered many a wild flower 
under its tall trees, had listened to many a rustic com- 
pliment, borne her full share of many a rustic flirtation, in 
its sheltering depths. For the first time in her life she 
wished it otherwise ; she wished she had held her head a 
little higher, kept her clownish admirers at a more 
respectful distance. Such conquests, she now felt, were 
anything but conducive to self-respect. She rose from 
her seat impatiently, and it was with a heightened colour 
and quick irregular steps, that she trod the winding foot- 
path leading to the wood. 

She had never before thought the scenery about Kipley 
and its neighbourhood half so pretty. To day there was a 
fresher verdure in the meadow, softer whispers in the wood- 
land, a fairer promise in the quiet sky. She could not 
have analysed her feelings, was scarce conscious of them, 
far less could she have expressed their nature ; yet she felt 
that for her, as for all of us, there are moments when 

“ A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, 

A purer sapphire melts into the sea ; ” 

and this was one of them. 

There is a certain fire dreaded by burnt children, and 
often kindled by the tiniest spark, at which it is un- 
speakable comfort to warm the hands, but with the glow 
of which people never seem satisfied till they have burnt 
their fingers. Like other fires, it should be poked 
sparingly, is easily smothered with over-much fuel, and 
bums, I think, fiercest in the hardest weather. Also, 
though a good servant, it is a bad master; carefully to 
be watched, lest it spread to a conflagration ; scarring deep 
where it scorches, to leave the sufferer marked and dis- 
figured for a life-time. 

Of that fire the miller’s daughter had been hitherto 
unconscious. She had always stood, as yet, on higher 
ground than those of the other sex, whatever their station. 


nOT CHESTNUTS 


65 


on whom she had thought it worth while to exercise her 
fascinations. It was capital fun then. It was all mirth, 
merry-making, rivalry, and gratified vanity. Was it good 
fun now ? She had already asked herself that question, 
though she had scarcely spent half an hour in the society 
of her new acquaintance. Already she had answered. 
No ! It was something better than fun, this — something 
deeper, sweeter, and far more dangerous. The first time 
a swimmer trusts to his newly-acquired art, he exults, no 
doubt, in the excitement of his situation, the development 
of his power ; but want of confidence in himself is the sure 
symptom that proves to him he is out of his depth. So was 
it now with Fanny. She longed for a mirror in which to 
arrange her hair, dishevelled by the south wind. She 
condemned the bonnet she had thought so killing an hour 
ago ; she mistrusted her very muslin ; she thought her 
gloves looked soiled and her boots untidy. She wondered 
whether he had detected freedom in her manner, want of 
education in her speech. She had often before wished she 
was a lady, but it was only that she might roll in a 
carriage, wear expensive dresses, and order about a 
quantity of servants. Now she felt as if she had over- 
rated the value of all these things, that silks, and 
splendour, and liveries were not the sole accessories of 
good breeding; and yet she wanted to be a lady more 
than ever. Why? Because Mr. Ainslie was a gentle- 
man. 

Thus, wishing, and dreaming, and repining, walking 
fast all the while, her colour was higher and her temper 
less equal than usual when she reached the shadows of 
Ashbank, and climbed the stile she had crossed so often 
on similar expeditions after hazel-nuts or wild flowers in 
days gone by. Surmounting the obstacle less carefully 
than she might have done had she expected a looker-on, it 
cooled neither her face nor her temper to find Mr. Vandeleur 
strolling quietly through the copse, smoking a cigar with 
his usual air of careless good-humoured superiority. She 
bounced off the foot-board, and putting her head down, 
tried to pass him without speaking, but he stretched his 
aims across the path, and stopped her with a laugh. 

Her eyes flashed angrily when she looked up in his face. 


66 


THE WHITE BOSE 


I do believe as you’re the devil ! ” exclaimed the 
girl, in a voice that seemed to denote she was in earnest. 

“I appreciate the compliment, Miss Fanny,” said he, 
removing the cigar from his mouth. But I assure you I 
am not, all the same. You are an angel though, my dear. 
I did not expect you for at least an hour, and as I hate 
waiting, I am grateful for your early appearance.” 

“ I shouldn’t have come at all only I promised,” 
answered Miss Fanny in a disturbed voice. And, there, 
I wish I hadn’t come at all as it is ! I wish I hadn’t met 
you in Kipley Lane ! I wish I’d never set eyes on you in 
my life ! I wish — what’s the use of wishing ? ” 

“ What, indeed ? ” replied Vandeleur. “ I should have 
lost a very agreeable little acquaintance ; you, a tolerably 
useful friend. Something has gone wrong. Miss Fanny, 
I’m afraid. You seem put out, and it’s very becoming, 
I give you my honour. Sit down, and tell us all about 
it.” 

“I’ll not sit down, Mr. Vandeleur,” protested the 
miller’s daughter, glancing anxiously towards the river she 
had left. “ But I’ll walk as far as the end of the wood 
with you. I suppose as you’ve got something particular 
to say, since you’ve kept your appointment so correct.” 

“ Quite right,” he answered. “ Something very par- 
ticular, and it won’t bear delay neither. There’s no 
time to be lost. I want to know how you’re getting 
on ? ” 

Miss Draper controlled herself with an effort, and spoke 
in a hard clear voice. 

“I did what you told me. I went to Mr. Archer’s 
yesterday, and made acquaintance with the young gentle- 
man to-day.” 

“ With Gerard Ainslie ? ” he asked. 

She nodded and her colour rose. 

“ What do you think of him ? ” continued Vandeleur, 
smiling. 

“I don’t think about him at all,” she flashed out. 
“ Oh, Mr. Vandeleur, it’s a shame; it’s a shame! And 
it can’t be done neither I I do believe as he’s one to love 
the very ground a girl walks on I ” 

The smile deepened on his face. “Likely enough,” 


BOT CHESTNUTS 


Q1 


said he quietly, but that won’t last long now he has 
seen you'* 

She looked a little better pleased. Such nonsense ! ” 
she exclaimed. “ What can I do ? ” 

“ This is what you can do,” replied Yandeleur, never 
lifting his eyes higher than her boots, “ and nobody else 
about here, or I should not have asked you. You can 
detach the boy from his foolish fancy as easily as I can 
break off this convolvulus. Look here. If it won’t un- 
wind, it must be torn asunder. If you can’t work with 
fair means, you must use foul.” 

While he spoke he tore the growing creepers savagely 
with his fingers, laughing more than the occasion seemed 
to warrant. Though she could not see how his eyes 
gleamed, she wondered at this exuberance of mirth. 
Strangely enough, it seemed to sober and subdue her. 

** Tell me what to do sir,” she said quietly, with a paler 
cheek. “ You’ve been a good friend to me, and I’m not an 
ungrateful girl, Mr. Yandeleur, indeed.” 

“ You must attach young Ainslie to yourself,” he replied 
in the most matter-of-course tone. “It ought not to be a 
difficult job, and I shouldn’t fancy it can be an unpleasant 
one. Tell the truth now. Miss Fan, wouldn’t you like 
to have the silly boy over head and ears in love with you ? ” 

She turned her face away, and made no answer. 
Looking under her bonnet he saw that she was crying. 

“ Do you think I have no self-respect? ” she asked, in a 
broken voice. 

“ I know I haven’t,” he answered, “ but that’s no rule 
for you. Look ye here. Miss Fanny, business is business. 
I shouldn’t have brought you here without something to 
say. When you’ve done crying, perhaps you’ll be ready to 
hear it.” 

“ I’m ready now,” she replied, with a steady look in his 
face that he did not endure for half a second. 

“I gave you a month when we met, the other evening, 
but I’ve altered my mind since then. If you’ll halve the 
time. I’ll double the money. There, you won’t meet so 
fair an offer as that every day in the market. What say 
you. Miss Fan ? Are you game ? ” 

She was walking with her hands clasped, and twined her 


68 


THE WHITE BOSE 


fingers together as if in some deep mental conflict, but 
showed no other sign of distress. 

“I don’t like it,” she said quietly, hut in clear forcible 
tones ; “ I don’t like it. I could do it better by either of 
the others. At least, I mean they seem as though they 
wouldn’t he quite so much in earnest. And it looks such 
a cruel job, too, if so be as the young lady likes him — 
and like him she must, I’m sure. Who is the young 
lady, Mr. Vandeleur? You promised as you’d tell me 
to-day.” 

It was true enough. Curiosity is a strong stimulant, 
and he had reserved this part of the scheme to ensure 
Miss Draper’s punctuality in keeping her appointment. 

“ The young lady,” replied Vandeleur. “ I thought you 
might have guessed. Miss Welhy, of Marston.” 

‘‘Has Miss Welhy got a sweetheart?” exclaimed the 
other in an accent of mingled jealousy, exultation, and 
pique. “Well, you do surprise me. And him! Why 
didn’t you tell me before?” 

Why, indeed? He found her much more manageable 
now. She listened to his instructions with the utmost 
deference. She even added little feminine improvements 
of her own. She would do her very test, she said, and 
that as quickly as might he, to further all his schemes. 
And she meant it too. She was in earnest now. She 
understood it all. She knew why he had broken away 
from her so rudely, and started after the pony-carriage like 
a madman. It was Miss Welhy, was it? And he was 
courting her, was he? Then Fanny Draper learned for 
the first time why the afternoon had been so different from 
the morning. She felt now that she herself loved Gerard 
Ainslie recklessly, as she had never loved before. And it 
was to be a struggle, a match, a deadly rivalry between 
herself and this young lady, who had all the odds in her 
favour, of station, manners, dress, accomplishments, every 
advantage over herself except a fierce, strong will, and a 
reckless, undisciplined heart. 

When Vandeleur emerged alone from Ashhank on his 
way home he had no reason to be dissatisfied with the 
ardour of his partisan. He was not easily astonished, as he 
used often to declare, but on the present occasion he shook 


ROT CHESTNUTS 


69 


his head wisely more than once, and exclaimed in an 
audible voice — 

“ Well, I always thought Miss Fan wicked enough for 
anything, but I’d no idea even she could have so much 
devil in her as that ! ” 


CHAPTER IX 


A PASSAGE OF ARMS 

Old Grits ” was seldom wrong about the weather. The 
wind remained southerly, and yet the rain held off. The 
day after the fishing party was bright and calm. Never- 
theless, it smiled on two very unhappy people within a 
circle of three miles. The least to be pitied of this 
unlucky pair was Ainslie, inasmuch as his was an ex- 
pected grievance, and in no way took him unawares. 

When Mr. Archer granted their release the day before, 
it was on the express stipulation that the succeeding 
afternoon as well as morning should be devoted to study 
by his pupils, and Gerard knew that it would be impossible 
for him to cross the marshes for the shortest glimpse of his 
ladye-love till another twenty-four hours had elapsed. He 
could have borne his imprisonment more patiently had he 
not been so disappointed in his chase after the pony- 
carriage, had he not also felt some faint, shadowy 
misgivings that its driver might have disapproved of the 
position in which she saw him placed. 

It was bad enough to miss an unexpected chance of 
seeing Norah; but to think that she could believe him 
capable of familiarity with such an individual as Miss 
Draper, and not to be able to justify himself, because, 
forsooth, he was deficient in modem history, was simply 
maddening. What was the Seven Years’ War, with all 
its alternations, to the contest raging in his own breast? 
How could he take the slightest interest in Frederic the 
Great, and Ziethen, and Seidlitz, and the rest of the 


A PASSAGE OF ARMS 


71 


Prussian generals, while Norah was within a league, and 
yet out of reach? “ What must she think of him? ” he 
wondered ; “ and what was she about? ” 

If Miss Welby had been asked what she was about, she 
would have declared she was gathering flowers for the 
house. Anybody else would have said she was roaming 
here and there in an aimless, restless manner, with a pair 
of scissors and a basket. Anybody else might have 
wondered why she could settle to no occupation, remain 
in no one place for more than five minutes at a time — why 
her cheek was pale and her eyes looked sleepless ; above 
all, why about her lips was set that scornful smile which, 
like a hard frost breaking up in rain, seldom softens but 
with a flood of tears. 

Norah knew the reason — very bitter and very painful it 
was. We, who have gone through the usual training of 
life, and come out of it more or less hardened into the 
cynicism we call good sense, or the indolence we dignify 
as resignation, can scarcely appreciate the punishment 
inflicted by these imaginary distresses on the young. 
Jealousy is hard to bear even for us, encouraged by 
example, cased in selfishness, and fortified by a hundred 
worldly aphorisms. We shrug our shoulders, we even 
force a laugh ; we talk of human weakness, male vanity 
or female fickleness, as the case may be; we summon 
pride to our aid, and intrench ourselves in an assumed 
humility ; or we plead our philosophy, which means we do 
not care very much for anything but our dinners. Perhaps, 
after all, our feelings are blunted. Perhaps — shame on us ! 
— we experience the slightest possible relief from thraldom, 
the faintest ray of satisfaction in reflecting that we, too, 
have our right to change ; that for us, at no distant period, 
will open the fresh excitement of a fresh pursuit. 

But with a young girl suffering from disappointment in 
her first affections there are no such counter-irritants as 
these. She steps at once out of her fairy-land into a cold, 
bleak, hopeless world. It is not that her happiness is gone, 
her feelings outraged, her vanity humbled to the dust— but 
her trust is broken. Hitherto she has believed in good ; 
now she says bitterly there is no good on the face of the 
earth. She has made for herself an image, which she has 


72 


THE WHITE BOSE 


draped like a god, and, behold ! the image is an illusion, 
after all — not even a stock or a stone, but a mist, a vapour, 
a phantom that has passed away and left a blank which all 
creation seems unable to fill up. It is hard to lose the love 
itself, but the cruel suffering is, that the love has wound 
itself round every trifle of her daily life. Yesterday the 
petty annoyance could not vex her ; yesterday the homely 
pleasure, steeped in that hidden consciousness, became a 
perfect joy. And to-day it is all over ! To-day there is a 
mockery in the sunbeam, a wail of hopeless sorrow in the 
breeze. Those gaudy flowers do but dazzle her with their 
unmeaning glare, and the scent of the standard-roses would 
go near to break her heart, but that she feels she has neither 
hope nor heart left. 

Norah Welby had been at least half-an-hour in the 
garden, and one sprig of geranium constituted the whole 
spoils of her basket. It was a comfort to be told by a 
servant that a young woman was waiting to speak with her. 
In her first keen pangs she was disposed, like some 
wounded animal, to bound restlessly from place to place, to 
seek relief in change of scene or attitude. They had not 
yet subsided into the dull, dead ache that prompts the 
sufferer to hide away in a corner and lie there, unnoticed 
and motionless in the very exhaustion of pain. 

Even a London footman is not generally quick-sighted, 
and Mr. Welby’s was a country-servant all over. Never- 
theless, Thomas roused himself from his reflections, what- 
ever they might be, and noticed that his young mistress 
looked “ uncommon queer,” as he expressed it, when he 
announced her visitor. She did not seem to understand 
till he had spoken twice, and then put her hand wearily to 
her forehead, while she repeated, vaguely — 

“ A young woman waiting, Thomas? Did she give any 
name ? ” 

“It’s the young woman from the Mill,” answered 
Thomas, who would have scorned to usher a person of 
Miss Draper’s rank into his young mistress’s presence with 
any of the forms he considered proper to visitors of a higher 
standing, and who simply nodded his head in the direction 
indicated for the benefit of the new arrival, observing with- 
out further ceremony — 


A PASSAGE! OF ABUS 


73 


“ Miss Welby’s in the garden. Come, look sharp ! 
That’s the road.” 

And now indeed Norah’s whole countenance and deport- 
ment altered strangely from what it had been a few minutes 
ago. Her proud little head went up like the crest of a 
knight who hears the trumpet pealing for the onset. 
There even came a colour into her fair, smooth cheek, 
before so pale and wan. Her deep eyes flashed and glowed 
through the long, dark lashes, and her sweet lips closed 
firm and resolute over the small, white, even teeth. 
Women have a strange power of subduing their emotions 
which has been denied to the stronger and less impression- 
able sex ; also, when the attack has commenced, and it is 
time to begin fighting in good earnest, they get their 
armour on and betake them to their skill of fence with a 
rapidity that to our slower perceptions seems as unnatural 
as it is alarming. 

The most practised duellist that ever stood on guard 
might have taken a lesson from the attitude of cool, 
vigilant, uncompromising defiance with which Norah 
received her visitor. 

The latter, too, was prepared for battle. Hers, however, 
was an aggressive mode of warfare which requires far less 
skill, courage, or tactics, than to remain on the defensive ; 
and, never lacking in confidence, she had to-day braced all 
her energies for the encounter. Nothing could be simpler 
than her appearance, more respectful than her manner, 
more demm-e than her curtsey, as she accosted Miss Welby 
with her eyes cast down to a dazzling bed of scarlet 
geraniums at her feet. 

The two girls formed no bad specimens of their respective 
classes of beauty, while thus confronting each other — 
Norah’s chiselled features, graceful head, and high bearing, 
contrasting so fairly with the comely face and bright 
physical charms of the miller’s daughter. 

“It’s about the time of our Ripley children’s school- 
feast, Miss Welby,” said the latter; “ I made so bold as to 
step up and ask whether you would arrange about the tea 
as usual.” 

Norah looked very pale, but there was a ring like steel 
in her voice while she replied — 


74 


THE WHITE ROSE 


“ I expected you, Fanny. I knew you had come home, 
for I saw you yesterday.” 

Fanny assumed an admirable air of unconsciousness. 

“ Really, miss,” said she. Well, now, I was up water- 
side in the afternoon, and I did make sure it was your 
carriage as passed over Ripley Bridge.” 

It seemed not much of an opening; such as it was, how- 
ever, Miss Welby took advantage of it. Still very grave 
and pale, she continued in a low distinct voice — 

“ I have no right to interfere, of course, hut still, Fanny, 
I am sure you will take what I say in good part. Do you 
think now that your father would approve of your attend- 
ing Mr. Archer’s young gentlemen in their fishing 
excursions up the river? ” 

Fanny bowed her head, and managed with great skill to 
execute a blush. 

“ Indeed, miss,” she faltered, ‘‘ it was only one young 
gentleman, and him the youngest of them as goes to school 
with Mr. Archer.” 

“I am quite aware it was Mr. Ainslie, for I am 
acquainted with him,” pursued Norah bravely enough, hut, 
do what she would, there was a quiver of pain in her voice 
when she uttered his name, and for a moment Miss Draper 
felt a sting of compunction worse than all the jealousy she 
had experienced during her interview with Vandeleur the 
previous afternoon. 

“ I have no doubt, indeed I know, he is a perfectly 
gentleman-like person,” continued the young lady, as if she 
was repeating a lesson, ** still, Fanny, I put it to your own 
good sense whether it would not have been wiser to remain 
at the Mill with your father.” 

“Perhaps you’re right, miss,” replied the other, acting 
her part of innocent simplicity with considerable success ; 
“ and I’m sure I didn’t mean no harm — nor him neither, I 
dare say. But he’s such a nice young gentleman. So 
quiet and careful-like. Amd he begged and prayed of me 
so hard to show him the way up-stream, that indeed, miss, 
I had not the heart to deny him.” 

“ Do you mean he asked you to go ? ” exclaimed Norah, 
and the next moment wished she had bitten her tongue off 
before it framed a question to which she longed yet dreaded 
so to hear the answer, 


A PASSAGE OF ABMS 


75 


Well, miss,’' replied Fanny, candidly, “ I suppose a 
young woman ought not to believe all that’s told her by a 
real gentleman lihe Mr. Ainslie ; and yet he seems so good 
and kind and affable, I can’t think as he’d want to go and 
deceive a poor girl like me.” 

Norah felt her heart sink, and a shadow, such as she 
thought must be like the shadow of death, passed over her 
eyes ; hut not for an instant did her courage fail, nor her 
self-command desert her at her need. 

“It is no question of Mr. Ainslie,” said she with an 
unmoved face, “ nor indeed of anybody in particular. I 
have said my say, Fanny, and I am sure you will not he 
offended, so we will drop the subject, if you please. And 
now, what can I do for you about the school-feast? ” 

But Fanny cared very little for the school-feast, or 
indeed for anything in the world but the task she had on 
hand, and its probable results, as they affected a new wild 
foolish hope that had lately risen in her heart. With a 
persistence almost offensive, she tried again and again to 
lead the conversation hack to Gerard Ainslie, hut again and 
again she was baffled by the quiet resolution of her com- 
panion. She learned indeed that Miss Welby was some- 
what doubtful as to whether she should be present at the 
tea-making in person, but beyond this gathered nothing 
more definite as to that young lady’s feelings and intentions 
than the usual directions about the prizes, the usual 
promise of assistance to the funds. 

For a quarter of an hour or so, Norah, stretched on the 
rack, bore her part in conversation on indifferent subjects 
in an indifferent tone, with a stoicism essentially feminine, 
and at the expiration of that period Fanny Draper departed, 
sufficiently well pleased with her morning’s work. She had 
altered her opinion now, as most of us do alter our opinions 
in favour of what we wish, and dismissed all compunction 
from her heart in meddling with an attachment that on one 
side at least seemed to have taken no deep root. “ She 
don’t care for him, not really,” soliloquised Miss Fanny, as 
the wicket-gate of the Parsonage clicked behind her, and 
she turned her steps homeward. “I needn’t have gone to 
worrit and fret so about it after all. It’s strange too — such 
a nice young gentleman, with them eyes and hair. But 


76 


THE WHITE BOSE 


she don’t care for him, nobody needs to tell me that — no 
more nor a stone ! ” 

How little she knew ! How little we know each other ! 
How impossible for one of Fanny Draper’s wilful, impulsive 
disposition to appreciate the haughty reticence, the habitual 
self-restraint, above all, the capability for silent suffering of 
that higher nature! She thought Norah Welby did not 
care for Gerard Ainslie, and she judged as nine out of 
ten do judge of their fellows, by an outward show of 
indifference, horn of self-scorn, and by a specious com- 
posure, partly mere trick of manner, partly resulting from 
inherent pride of birth. 

Norah watched the departure of her visitor without 
moving a muscle. Like one in a dream, she marked the 
steps retiring on the gravel, the click of the wicket-gate. 
Like one in a dream too, she walked twice round the 
garden, pale, erect, and to all appearance tranquil, save 
that now and then, putting her hand to her throat, she 
gasped as if for breath. Then she went slowly into the 
house, and sought her own room, where she locked the 
door, and, sure that none could overlook her, flung herself 
down on her knees by the bedside, and wept the first bitter, 
scalding, cruel tears of her young life. Pride, scorn, pique, 
propriety, maidenly reserve, these were for the outer world, 
but here — she had lost him ! lost him ! and the agony was 
more than she could bear. 


CHAPTEE X 


AN APPOINTMENT 

The post arrived at Mr. Archer’s in the middle of break- 
fast, and formed a welcome interruption to the stagnation 
which was apt to settle on that repast. It is not easy for 
a tutor to make conversation, day after day, for three 
young gentlemen over whom he is placed in authority, and 
who are therefore little disposed to assist him in his efforts 
to set them at ease. Mr. Archer could not forget that, 
under all their assumed respect, he was still “ Nobs ” 
directly his hack was turned; and a man’s spirit must 
indeed be vigorous to flow unchecked by a consciousness 
that all he says and does will afford material for subsequent 
ridicule and caricature. Also, there are but few subjects 
in common between three wild, hopeful boys, not yet 
launched in the world, and a grave, disappointed, middle- 
aged man, who has borne his share of action and of 
suffering, has thought out half the illusions of life, and 
lived out all its romance. If he talks gravely he bores, if 
playfully he puzzles, if cynically he demoralises them. To 
sink the tutor is subversive of discipline ; to preserve that 
character, ruinous to good-fellowship ; so long and weary 
silences were prone to settle over Mr. Archer’s breakfast- 
table, relieved only by crunching of dry toast, applications 
for more tea, and a hearty consumption of broiled bacon 
and household bread. Of the three pupils, Dolly Egremont 
suffered these pauses with the most impatience, betraying 
his feelings by restless contortions on his chair, hideous 
grimaces veiled by the tea-um from Mr. Archer’s eye, and 

77 


78 


THE WHITE BOSE 


a continual looking for the postman (whose arrival could be 
seen from the dining-room windows), unspeakably sugges- 
tive of a cheerless frame of mind described by himself as 
suppressed bore. 

Glancing for the hundredth time down the laurel-walk to 
the green gate, he pushed his plate away with a prolonged 
yawn, nudged Gerard, who sat beside him, with an energy 
that sent half that young gentleman’s tea into his breast- 
pocket and burst forth as usual in misquoted verse — 


“ She said the day is dreary, 
He cometh not, she said ; 
None of us seem very cheery, 
And I wish I was in bed ! 


Do you know, sir, I think this ‘ weak and weary post, bare- 
headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,’ must have got 
dnmk already, and is not coming here at all.” 

Mr. Archer could not help smiling. 

‘‘ How you remember things that are not of the slightest 
use, Egremont,” he observed. “ May I ask if you expect 
any letters of unusual importance this morning? ” 

It’s not that, sir,” answered Dolly. ‘‘ But a Govern- 
ment functionary, particularly a postman, has no right to 
be absent from his post. Mine is essentially a genius of 
method. I cannot bear anything like irregularity.” 

‘‘I am very glad to hear it,” replied Mr. Archer drily. 
‘‘ I should not have thought it, I confess.” 

“ It’s been my character from childhood,” answered 
Dolly gravely ; “ though I must allow both Jerry here, and 
the Dandy, give me many an anxious moment on that 
score. Not to mention the postman — 


I hold that man the worst of public foes 

Who— look out, here he comes ! yes, there he goes I ” 


Everybody laughed, for Dolly was a privileged buffoon, 
and a servant entering at the moment with the bag, 
there was a general anxiety evinced while Mr. Archer 
unlocked it and distributed the contents. Three for him- 


AN APPOINTMENT 


79 


self, none for Dolly, two for Burton, and one for Gerard 
Ainslie. 

The latter started and blushed up to his temples with 
sui’prise and pleasure. It was the first “ Official” he had 
ever received, and its envelope, fresh from the Horse 
Guards, was stamped with the important words, “ On Her 
Majesty* s Service.** 

He tore it open. It contained a sufficiently dry com- 
munication, informing him that he would shortly 
he gazetted to an ensigncy in an infantry regiment, 
and directing him to acknowledge its receipt to an 

obedient servant” whose name he was quite unable to 
decipher. 

He pushed the open letter across the table to Mr. 
Archer, who, having just received some information of the 
same nature, expressed no surprise, only observing — 

“ We shall be sorry to lose you, Ainslie ; it is sooner than 
I expected. Make yourself easy about your examinations. 
I think you are sure to pass.” 

He rose fi’om the table, and the others rushed off to the 
pupil-room, overwhelming their companion with questions, 
congratulations, and chaff. 

“When must you go, Jerry?” “Are you to join 
directly, or will they give you leave ? ” “ Don’t you funk 

being spun?” “Is it a good regiment? How jolly to 
dine at mess every day!” “I shouldn’t like to be a 
‘Grahhy’ though” (this from the Dandy); “and, after 
all, I’d rather he a private in the cavalry than an officer in 
the regiment of feet ! ” 

It was obvious that Granville Burton’s range of ex- 
perience had never included stahle-duty, and that he was 
talking of what he knew nothing about. 

Gerard Ainslie felt the esprit de corps already rising 
strong within him. 

“ Don’t you jaw. Dandy,” he replied indignantly. 
“ You’re not in the service at all yet ; and I’ve always 
heard mine is an excellent regiment.” 

“ How do you know ? ” laughed Dolly. “ You’ve 
scarcely been in it a quarter of an hour. Never mind, 
Jerry, we shall be sorry to lose you. This old pupil-room 
will he uncommon slow with nobody but me and Dandy to 


so 


THE WHITE BOSE 


keep the game alive. The Dandy has not an idea beyond 
tobacco — 

Yet it shall be — shall lower to his level day by day, 

All that’s fine within me growing coarse by smoking pipes of clay.” 

“Pipes, indeed!” exclaimed Burton literally. “I 
don’t believe any fellow in the army smokes better weeds 
than mine. You told me yourself, Dolly, yesterday, under 
the willows, that you never enjoyed a cigar so much as the 
one I gave you ” 

“ Oh 1 it was sweet, my Granville, to catch the landward breeze, 
A-swing with good tobacco, by the mill beneath the trees, 

While I spooned the miller’s daughter, and we listened to the roar 
Of the wheel that broke the water — and we voted you a bore ! ” 

replied the incorrigible Dolly. “ Yes, you have a certain 
glimmering of intellect as regards the Virginian plant, but 
I shall miss old Jerry awfully, just the same. So will you, 
so will ‘Nobs,’ so will Fanny Draper. Don’t blush, old 
man. She looked very sweet at you the day before 
yesterday ; and though the Dandy here had thrown his 
whole mind into his collars, he never made a race of it 
from the time she caught sight of you till the finish. Look 
here I We’ll all go down together, and you shall wish her 
good-bye, and I’ll have an improving conversation and a drop 
of mild ale with Grits — 

In yonder chair I see him sit, 

Three fingers round the old silver cup ; 

I see his grey eyes twinkle yet 
At his own jest. He drinks it up. 

A devilish bad jest, too ! I say, can’t one of you fellows 
quote something now ? I’ve been making all the running, 
and I’m blown at last.” 

“It’s about time you were,” observed Burton, who had 
some difficulty in keeping pace with his voluble companion, 
“ You get these odds and ends of rhyme mixed up in your 
head, and when you go in for examination, the only thing 
you’ll pass for will be a lunatic asylum 1 ” 

“ Not half a bad club neither 1 ” responded Dolly. “ I 


AN APPOINTMENT 


81 


saw a lot of mad fellows play a cricket match once — Incurable 
Ward against Convalescents. The incurables had it hollow. 
Beat ’em in one innings. I never knew a chap so pleased 
as the mad doctor. Long-stop was very like ‘ Nobs ’ ; and 
they all behaved better at luncheon than either of you 
fellows do. Jerry, my boy, you’ll come and see us before 
you join. I say, come in uniform, if you can.” 

The propriety of following out this original sugges- 
tion might have been canvassed at great length, but for 
the apparition of Mr. Archer’s head at the pupil-room 
door summoning Ainslie to a private interview in his 
sanctum, 

‘‘ You will have to start at once,” observed the tutor, 
looking keenly at his pupil, and wondering why the natural 
exultation of a youth who has received his first commission 
should be veiled by a shadow of something like regret. “ I 
have a letter from your great-uncle, desiring you should 
proceed to London, to-night, if possible. It is sharp 
practice, Ainslie, but you are going to he a soldier, and must 
accustom yourself to march on short notice. I recollect in 
India, — well, that’s nothing to do with it. Can you he 
ready for the evening train ? ” 

The evening train ! ” repeated the lad ; and again a 
preoccupation of manner struck Mr. Archer as unusual. 
“ Oh, yes, sir ! ” he said, after a pause, and added, 
brightening up, “I should like to come and see you 
again, sir, when I’ve passed, and wish you good-bye.” 

Mr. Archer was not an impressionable person, but he 
was touched ; neither was he demonstrative, still he gi-asped 
his pupil’s hand with unusual cordiality. 

“ Tell the servants to pack your things,” said he, “ and 
come to me again at six o’clock for what money you want. 
In the meantime, if you have any farewells to make, you 
had better set about them. I have nothing further to 
detain you on my own account.” 

Any farewells to make ! Of course he had. One fare- 
well that rather than forego he would have forfeited a 
thousand commissions with a field-marshal’s baton attached 
to each. He thought his tutor spoke meaningly, but this 
on reflection, he argued, must have been fancy. How 
should anybody have discovered his love for Norah Welby ? 

6 


82 


THE WHITE ROSE 


Had he not treasured it up in his own heart, making no 
confidants, and breathing it only to the water-lilies on the 
marshes ? Within ten minutes he was speeding across 
those well-known flats on a fleeter foot than usual, now 
that he had news of such importance to communicate at 
Marston Rectory. The exercise, the sunshine, the balmy 
summer air soon raised his spirits to their accustomed 
pitch. Many a dream had he indulged in during those 
oft-repeated walks to and from the presence of his ladye- 
love, hut the visions had never been so bright, so life-like, 
and so hopeful as to-day ! 

He was no longer the mere schoolboy running over during 
play-hours to worship in hopeless adoration at the feet of a 
superior being. He was a soldier, ofi’ering a future, worthy 
of her acceptance, to the woman he loved ; he was a knight, 
ready to carry her colours exultingly to death ; he was a 
man who need not be ashamed of offering a man’s devotion 
and a man’s truth to her who should hereafter become his 
wife. Yes ; he travelled as far as that before he had walked 
a quarter of a mile. To be sure there was an immense 
deal to be got through in the way of heroism and adventure 
indispensable to the working out of his plans in a becoming 
manner, worthy of her and of him. One scene on which 
he particularly dwelt, represented a night-attack and a 
storming party, of which, of course, he was destined to be 
the leader. He could see the rockets shooting up across 
the midnight sky; could hear the whispers of the men, 
in their great-coats, with their white haversacks slung, 
mustered ready and willing, under cover of the trenches. 
He was forming them with many a good-humoured jest and 
rough word of encouragement, ere he put himself at their 
head ; and now, with the thunder of field-pieces, and the 
rattle of small-arms, and groans and cheers, and shouts 
and curses ringing in his ears, he was over the parapet, 
the place was carried, the enemy retiring, and a decorated 
colonel, struck down by his own sword, lay before him, 
prostrate and bleeding to the death ! A tableau^ bright 
and vivid, if not quite so natural as reality. And all this, 
in order that, contrary to the usages of polite warfare, he 
might strip the said colonel of his decorations, and bring 
them home to lay at Miss Welby’s feet ! It was charac- 


AN APPOINTMENT 


83 


teristic, too, that he never thought of the poor slain officer, 
nor the woman that may have loved him. 

Altogether, by the time Gerard reached the wicket-gate 
in the Parsonage-wall, his own mind was made up, that ere 
a few minutes elapsed he would be solemnly affianced to 
Norah, and that their union was a mere question of time. 
Nothing to speak of ! Say half a dozen campaigns, per- 
haps, with general actions, wounds, Victoria Crosses, 
promotions, and so on, to correspond. 

Why did his heart fail him more than usual when he 
lifted the latch ? Why did it sink down to his very boots 
when he observed no chair, no book, no rickety table, no 
work-basket, and no white muslin on the deserted lawn? 

It leaped into his mouth again though, when he saw the 
drawing-room windows shut, and the blinds down. Even 
its outside has a wonderful faculty of expressing that a 
house is untenanted. And long before his feeble summons 
at the door-bell produced the cook, with her gown unhooked 
and her apron fastened round her waist, Gerard felt that 
his walk had been in vain. 

‘‘Is Miss Welby at home?” asked he, knowing per- 
fectly well she was not, and giving himself up blindly to 
despair. 

“ Not at home, sir,” answered the cook, proffering for 
the expected card a finger and thumb discreetly covered by 
the corner of her apron. She knew Gerard by sight, and 
was slightly interested in him, as “ Mr. Archer’s gent what 
come after our young lady.” She was sorry to see him 
look so white, and thought his voice strangely husky 
when he demanded, as a forlorn hope, if he could see 
Mr. Welby ? 

“Not here, sir; the family be gone to London,” she 
answered resolutely; but added, being merciful in her 
strength, “ they’ll not be away for long, sir. Miss Welby 
said as they was sure to be back in six weeks.” 

Six weeks ! He literally gasped for breath. The woman 
was about to offer him a glass of water, but he found his 
voice at last, and muttered more to himself than the 
servant, “ Surely she would write to me ! I wonder if I 
shall get a letter? ” 

“It’s Mr. Ainslie, isn’t it? ” said the cook, who knew 


84 


THE WHITE ROSE 


perfectly well it was. “ I tZo think, sir, as there’s a letter 
for you in the post-hag. I’ll step in and fetch it.” 

So she “ stepped in and fetched it.” She was a kind- 
hearted woman. Long ago she had lovers of her own. 
Perhaps, even now, she had not quite given up the idea. 
She was not angry, though many women would have been, 
that Gerard forgot to thank her — seizing the precious 
despatch, and carrying it off to devour it by himself, 
without a word : on the contrary, returning to her scrub- 
bing and her dish-scouring, she only observed, “ Poor 
young chap ! ” comparing him, though disparagingly, 
with a former swain of her ovn, who was in the pork- 
butchering line, had a shock head of red hair, and weighed 
fourteen stone. 

Out of sight and hearing, Gerard opened his letter with 
a beating heart. Its contents afforded but cold comfort to 
one who had been lately indulging in visions such as his. 
It was dated late the night before, and ran thus : — 

Deae Mr. Ainslib, — In case you should call on us to- 
morrow, papa desires me to say that we shall be on our 
way to London. We are going to pay Uncle Edw^ard a 
visit, and it is very uncertain when we return. 

“ I think I caught a glimpse of you fishing at Ripley 
Bridge yesterday, and hope you had good sport. 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“L. Welby.” 

It was hard to bear. Though he had now a character to 
support as an officer and a gentleman, I shouldn’t wonder 
if the tears came thick and fast into his eyes while he 
folded it up. So cold, so distant, so unfeeling ! And that 
last sentence seemed the cruellest stroke of all. Poor boy ! 
A little more experience would have shown him how that 
last sentence explained the wffiole — would have taught him 
to gather from it the brightest auguries of success. Unless 
offended, she would never have written in so abrupt a 
strain ; and why should she be offended unless she cared 
for him ? It was like a woman, not to resist inflicting that 
last home-thrust; yet to a practised adversary it would have 
exposed her weakness, and opened up her whole guard. 


AN APPOINTMENT 


85 


But Gerard was no practised adversary, and he carried a 
very sore heart back with him across the marshes. The 
only consolation he could gather was that Miss Welhy had 
gone to London, and he would find her there. In this also 
he betrayed the simplicity of youth. He had yet to discover 
that London is a very large place for a search after the 
person you are most desirous to see, and that, when found, 
the person is likely to be less interested in you there than 
in any other locality on the face of the earth. 


CHAPTER XI 


A DISAPPOINTMENT 

Neither the threatened six weeks, nor even five of them, 
had elapsed before Mr. Welby and his daughter returned 
to their pretty home. She had never felt so glad to get 
hack in her life. Ainslie’s stay in London had been so 
short as to preclude the possibility of his seeking Norah 
with any chance of success, and a combination of feelings, 
amongst which predominated no slight apprehension that 
her father might open the letter, prevented him from 
trusting one to be forwarded to her young mistress by 
his friend the cook. So Miss Welby returned to Marston 
with a firm conviction that Gerard was still at Mr. 
Archer’s, and would cross the marshes to visit her, fond 
and submissive as usual. She had forgiven him in her 
own heart long ago. It hurt it too much to bear ill-will 
against its lord. The first day she was in London she 
found a hundred excuses for his fancied disloyalty; the 
second, shed some bitter tears over her own cold, cruel 
letter ; by the end of the week had persuaded herself she 
was quite in the wrong, liked him better than ever, and 
was dying to get home again and tell him so. She never 
doubted the game was in her own hands; and although 
when the time for return drew near — accelerated a whole 
week at her request — she anticipated the pleasure of 
punishing him just a little for rendering her so unhappy, 
it was with a steadfast purpose to make amends thereafter 
by such considerate kindness as should rivet his fetters 
faster than before. 

She had said they were to he away six weeks ; therefore, 
86 


A DiSAPFOINTMBNT 


87 


she told herself there could be no chance of his coming 
over for awhile, until he had learnt by accident they had 
returned. Nevertheless, on the very first day, she estab- 
lished herself, with chair, table, and work-basket, on the 
lawn under the lime tree ; and was very much disappointed 
when tea-time came and he had not arrived. 

Next day it rained heavily, and this she deemed fortu- 
nate, because, as she argued somewhat inconsequently, it 
would have prevented his coming at any rate, and would 
afford another twenty-four hours for the usual tide of 
country gossip to caiTy him the news of her return. The 
following morning she was sure of him, and her face, when 
she came down to breakfast, looked as bright and pure as 
the summer sky itself. 

It was Norah’s custom to hold a daily interview with the 
cook at eleven o’clock, avowedly for the purpose of ordering 
dinner ; that is to say, this domestic wrote down a certain 
programme on a slate, of which, if she wished the repast 
to be well dressed, it was good policy in her young lady to 
approve. On these occasions the whole economy of the 
household came under discussion, and those arrangements 
were made on which depended the excellence of the pro- 
vender, the tidiness of the rooms, the softness of the beds, 
and the orderly conduct of the servants. The third morn- 
ing, then, after her arrival, the cook, an inveterate gossip, 
having exhausted such congenial subjects as soap, candles, 
stock, dripping, and table-linen, bethought herself of yet 
one more chance to prolong their interview. 

The letters had all come to hand safe,” she hoped, 
‘‘ according to the directions Miss Welby left for forwarding 
of them correct.” 

Miss Welby frankly admitted they arrived in due com’se. 

The cook had been “careful to post them herself regular, 
so as there could he no mistake. All hut one. She’d for- 
gotten to mention it, and that was the very day as Miss 
Welby left.” 

Norah’s heart leaped with a wild hope. Could it be 
possible that cruel, odious, vile production had never 
reached him after all ? 

The cook proceeded gravely to excuse herself. 

“She had seen the address — it was the only letter in the 


88 


THE WHITE BOSE 


box ; the young gentleman come over himself that very 
morning, while she (the cook) was cleaning up. He 
seemed anxious, poor young gentleman ! and looked 
dreadful ill, so she made hold to give it him then and 
there. She hoped as she done right.” 

Norah’s cheek turned pale. He looked ill — poor, poor 
fellow ! And he was anxious. Of course he was. No 
doubt he had hurried over to explain all, and had found 
her gone, leaving that cruel letter (how she hated it now !) 
to cut him to the heart. She had been rash, passionate, 
unkind, unjust ! She had lowered both herself and him. 
Never mind. He would be here to-day, in an hour at the 
latest ; and she would beg pardon humbly, fondly, promis- 
ing never to mistrust nor to vex him again. No ; there 
were no more orders. The cook had done quite right 
about the letters, and they would dine at half-past seven 
as usual. 

It was a relief to be left alone again with her own 
thoughts. It was a happiness to look at the lengthening 
shadows creeping inch by inch across the lawn, and expect 
him every moment now, as luncheon came and went, and 
the afternoon passed away. But the shadows overspread 
the whole lawn, the dew began to fall, the dressing-bell 
rang, and still no Gerard Ainslie. 

Mr. Welby attributed his daughter’s low spirits during 
dinner to reaction after the excitement of a London life. 
He had felt it himself many years ago, and shuddered with 
the remembrance even now. At dessert a bright thought 
struck him, and he looked up. 

“ It’s the archery meeting to-morrow at Oakover. Isn’t 
it, Norah ? My dear, hadn’t you better go ? ” 

“ I think I shall,” answered Miss Welby, who fully 
intended it. “Perhaps Lady Baker will take me. If 
she can’t I must fall back on the Browns.” 

“My dear, I will take you myself,” replied her father 
stoutly, while he filled his glass. 

She looked pleased. 

“ Oh, papa, how nice ! But, dear, you’ll be so dread- 
fully bored. There’s a cold dinner, you know. And the 
thing lasts all day, and dancing very likely at night. 
However, we can come away before that.” 


A DISAPFOINTMBNT 


** You’re an unselfish girl, Norali,” said her father, as 
you always were. I tell you I’ll go, and I’ll stay and see 
it out if they dance till dawn. You shall drive me there 
with the ponies, and they can come back and bring the 
brougham for us at night. No, you needn’t thank me, my 
dear. I’m not so good as you think. I want to have a 
few hours in Vandeleur’s library, for I’m by no means 
satisfied with the * Sea-breeze Chorus ’ in any of my 
editions here. It seems clear one word at least must be 
wrong. The whole spirit of the * Medea,’ the ‘Hecuba,’ 
and, indeed, every play of Euripides — ^but I won’t inflict a 
Greek particle — no, nor a particle of Greek — on you, my 
dear. Ring the bell, and let’s have some tea.” 

So Norah went to bed, after another day of disappoint- 
ment, buoyed up once more by hope, — Gerard was sm-e to 
be at the archery meeting. Mr. Archer’s young gentlemen 
always made a point of attending these gatherings; and 
Dolly Egremont had, on one occasion, even taken a prize. 
“Yes,” thought Miss Welby, “to-morrow, at last, I am 
sure to meet him. Perhaps he is offended. Perhaps he 
won’t speak to me. Never mind ! He’ll see I’m sorry at 
any rate, and he’ll know that I haven’t left off caring for 
him. Yes, I’ll put on that lilac he thought so pretty. It’s 
a little worn, but I don’t mind. I hope it won’t rain ! I 
wish to-morrow was come ! ” 

To-morrow came, and it didn’t rain. Starting after 
luncheon in the pony-carriage, Norah and her father 
agreed that this was one of the days sent expressly from 
Paradise for breakfasts, fetes, picnics, &c., but which so 
rarely reach their destination. 

At Oakover everything seemed in holiday dress for the 
occasion. The old trees towered in the full luxuriance of 
summer foliage. The lawn, fresh mown, smiled smooth 
and comely, like a clean-shaved face. The stone balus- 
trades and gravel walks glared and glittered in the sun. 
The garden was one blaze of flowers. Already a flapping 
marquee was being pitched for refreshments, and snowy 
bell-tents dotted the sward, for the different purposes of 
marking scores, assorting prizes, and carrying on flirtations. 
The targets, leaning backward in jovial defiance, offered 
their round bluff faces with an air that seemed to say. 


90 


THE WHITE ROSE 


“ Hit me, if you can ! ” and it is but justice to admit that, 
in one or two instances, they had paid the penalty of their 
daring with a flesh wound or so about the rims. 

When Mr. Welby and his daughter arrived on the 
ground, a few flights of arrows had already been shot, and 
the archers were walking in bands to and fro between the 
butts, with a solemnity that denoted the grave nature of 
their pastime. Well might old Froissart, on whose country- 
men, indeed, a flight of English arrows made no slight 
impression, describe our people as taking their pleasure 
sadly, after the manner of their nation.” 

If there was one social duty which Mr. Vandeleur fulfilled 
better than another, it was that of receiving his guests. 
He had the knack of putting people at ease from the outset. 
He made them feel they were conferring a favour on himself 
by visiting his home, while at the same time he preserved 
so much of dignity and self-respect as conveyed the idea 
that to confer favours on such a man was by no means 
waste of courtesy. For Mr. Welby he had a cordial 
greeting and a jest, for Norah a graceful compliment and 
a smile. 

“ The shooters have already begun. Miss Welby,” said 
he, turning to welcome a fresh batch of guests ; “ and 
there’s tea in the large tent. If you miss your chaperone 
at any time, you will be sure to find him in the library.” 

So Norah walked daintily on towards the targets, and 
many an eye followed her with approving glances as she 
passed. It is not every woman who can walk across a ball- 
room, a lawn, or such open space, unsupported, with dignity 
and ease. Miss Welby’s undulating figure never looked so 
well as when thus seen aloof from others, moving smooth 
and stately, with a measured step and graceful bearing 
peculiarly her own. The smooth, elastic gait was doubt- 
less the result of physical symmetry, but the inimitable 
charm of manner sprang from combined modesty and self- 
respect within. 

Welby, a few paces behind, felt proud of his handsome 
daughter, looked it, and was not ashamed even to profess 
his admiration. There was a quaking heart all the time 
though under this attractive exterior. With one eager, 
restless glance Norah took in the whole company, and 


A DISAPPOINTMENT 


91 


Gerard was not there. Worse still, Dolly Egremont had 
just made a gold,” and Dandy Burton was shooting aim- 
lessly over the target. 

Poor Norah began to be very unhappy. Luckily, how- 
ever, she got hold of Lady Baker, and that welcome 
dowager, who was rather deaf, rather blind, and rather 
stupid, offered the best possible refuge till a fellow-pupil 
should come up to make his bow, and she might ask — in a 
roundabout way, be sure — what had become of Gerard 
Ainslie. 

Mr. Archer’s young gentlemen had hitherto taken advan- 
tage with considerable readiness of the very few opportunities 
that offered themselves to pay attention to Miss Welby. 
To-day, nevertheless, perverse fate decreed that both Egi’e- 
mont and Burton should be so interested in their shooting 
as to remain out of speaking distance. The Dandy, indeed, 
took his hat off with an elaborate flourish, but having been 
captm’ed, in the body at least, by a young lady in pink, was 
unable, for the present, to do more than express with such 
mute homage his desire to lay himself at Miss Welby ’s 
feet. 

It was weary work that waiting, waiting for the one dear 
face. Weary work to see everybody round her merry- 
making, and to be hungering still for the presence that 
would turn this penance into a holiday for herself as it was 
for the rest. There was always the hope that he might 
come late with Mr. Ai’cher, who had not appeared. And 
to so frail a strand Norah clung more and more tenaciously 
as the day went down, and this her last chance died out 
too. Even Lady Baker remarked the wom, weary look on 
that pale face, and proposed the usual remedy for a heart- 
ache in polite circles, to go and have some tea. 

‘‘ This standing so long would founder a troop-horse, my 
dear,” said her ladyship. “ Let’s try for a cup of tea. Mr. 
Vandeleur told me it was ready two hours ago.” 

Norah assented willingly enough. He might be in the 
tent after all, and for a while this spark of hope kindled 
into flame, and then went out like the rest. 

In the tent, however, were collected the smartest of the 
county people, including several young gentlemen professed 
admirers of Miss Welby. They gathered round her the 


92 


THE WHITE BOSE 


instant she appeared. Partly yielding to the exigencies of 
society, partly to the force of liahit, partly to intense weari- 
ness and vexation, she joined in their talk, accepting the 
incense offered her with a liveliness of tone and manner 
betrayed for the first time to-day. Lady Baker began to 
think her young friend was “rather giddy for a clergyman’s 
daughter, and a confirmed flirt, like the rest of them.” 

And so the day wore on, and the shooters unstrung their 
bows, making excuses for their inefficiency. Presently, the 
prizes were distributed, the company adjourned into the 
house, rumours went about of an impromptu dance, and 
people gathered in knots, as if somewhat at a loss till it 
should begin. Mr. Vandeleur moving from group to group, 
with pleasant words and smiles, at last stopped by Norali, 
and keeping on the deafest side of Lady Baker, observed in 
a low tone — 

“ Yom* father is still wrestling hard with a Greek mis- 
print in the library. He won’t want you to go away for 
hours yet. We think of a little dancing. Miss Welby; 
when would you like to begin? ” 

It was flattering to be thus made queen of the revels ; he 
meant it should be, and she felt it so. Still she was rather 
glad that Lady Baker did not hear. She was glad, too, 
that her host did not secure her for the first quadrille, when 
she saw Dandy Burton advancing with intention in his eye, 
and she resolved to extract from that self-satisfied young 
gentleman all the information for which she pined. 

Vandeleur had debated in his own mind whether he 
should dance with her or not, but, having a certain sense 
of the fitness of things, decided to abstain. 

“ No ! hang it ! ” he said to himself that morning while 
shaving ; “ after a fellow’s forty it’s time to shut up. I’ve 
had a queerish dance or two in my day, and I can’t com- 
plain. How I could open their eyes here if I chose ! ” and 
he chuckled, that unrepentant sinner, over sundry well- 
remembered scenes of revelry and devilry in the wild 
wicked times long ago. 

The band struck up, the dancers paired, the set was 
forming, and Burton, closely pm’sued by Dolly Egremont, 
secured his partner. 

“Too late ! ” exclaimed the triumphant cavalier to his 


A DISAPPOINTMENT 


93 


fellow-pupil. “ Miss Welby’s engaged. Besides, Dolly, 
she considers you too fat to dance.” 

An indignant disclaimer from Miss Welby was lost in 
Dolly’s good-humom-ed rejoinder. 

You go for a waist, Dandy,” said he, “ and I for a 
chest — that’s all the difference. Besides, it’s a well-known 
fact that the stoutest men always dance the lightest. 
You’ve got a square — Miss Welby will, perhaps, give 
me the next round — 

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud 
Dandy ! you dress too low, you dance too loud.” 

But Miss Welby was afraid she couldn’t — didn’t think 
she should waltz at all — felt a little headache, and wondered 
how Mr. Egremont could talk such nonsense ! Then she 
took her station by her partner, and began. It was more 
difficult to pump the Dandy than she expected. In the 
first place he had thrown his whole mind into his costume, 
which, indeed, it is but justice to admit, left nothing to be 
desired ; secondly, what little attention he might otherwise 
have spared, was distracted by the unconcealed admiration 
lavished on him by his vis-d-vis, the young lady in pink ; 
and thirdly, his own idea of conversation was a running fire 
of questions, without waiting for answers, alternated by 
profuse compliments, too personal to be quite agreeable. 

“Don’t you waltz. Miss Welby? ” said he, the instant 
they paused to allow of the side couples performing the 
dignified motions they had themselves executed. “ You’ve 
got just the figure for waltzing ; I’m sure you must waltz 
well. Now I think of it, I fancy I’ve seen you waltz with 
Gerard Ainslie.” 

Perhaps he had. Perhaps that was the reason she didn’t 
waltz now. Perhaps she had made this absentee a promise 
that men selfishly exact, and even loving women accord 
rather unwillingly, never to waltz with anybody else. Per- 
haps a difference of opinion at a previous archery meeting 
of which we have heard may have arisen from a discussion 
on this very subject. I know not. At any rate, here was 
an opening, and Norah took advantage of it. 

“He’s a good waltzer— Mr. Ainslie,” said she, drearily. 
“ Why is he not here to-night ? ” 


94 


THE WHITE EOSE 


“ Do you think he is quite a good waltzer ? ” asked her 
partner. “He dances smoothly enough, but don’t you 
think he holds himself too stiff ? And then, a fellow can’t 
dance you know, if It’s your turn to go on ! ’’ 

An untimely interruption, while she carried out a ridiculous 
pantomime with the gentleman opposite — a swing with 
both hands in the Dandy’s — and a retmm to the previous 
question. 

“ You were going to tell me why Mr. Ainslie didn’t come 
with you.” 

“I don’t want to talk about Ainslie,” answered the 
Dandy, with a killing smile. “ I want to talk about your- 
self, Miss Welby. That’s a charming dress you’ve got on. 

I had no idea lilac could The others are waiting for 

us to begin.” 

And so the grand round came, and still Norah had not 
extorted an answer to the question next her heart. She 
looked paler and more dejected than ever when her partner 
led her through the dancing-room, proposing wine-and- 
water, ices, and such restoratives. She was very heart-sick 
and tired — tired of the dancing, the music, the whole thing 
— not a little tired of Dandy Burton himself and his plati- 
tudes. Succour, however, was at hand. Vandeleur had 
been watching her through the whole quadrille, only waiting 
his opportunity. He pounced on it at once. 

“ You find the heat oppressive. Miss Welby,” said he, 
extricating her from Burton’s arm, and offering his own. 
“ I never can keep this room cool enough. Let me take 
you to the conservatory, where there is plenty of air, and a 
fountain of water besides to souse you if you turn faint.” 

It was a relief to hear his cheerful, manly tones after the 
Dandy’s vapid sentences. She took his arm gratefully, and 
accompanied him, followed by meaning glances from two or 
three observant ladies, who would not have minded seeing 
their own daughters in the same situation. 


CHAPTEK XII 


REACTION 

“ This is delightful ! ” exclaimed Norah, drawing a full 
breath of the pure, cool night air, that played through the 
roomy conservatory, and looking round in admiration on the 
quaintly-twisted pillars, the inlaid pavement, the glittering 
fountain, and the painted lanterns hanging amongst broad- 
leafed tropical plants and gorgeous flowers. It seemed a 
dififerent world from the ball-room, and would have been 
Paradise, if only Gerard had been there ! 

“ I am glad you like it. Miss Welby,” said Vandeleur, 
with a flattering emphasis on the pronoun. ‘‘Now sit 
down, while I get you some tea, and I’ll give you leave to 
go and dance again directly I see more colour in your face. 
I take good care of you, don’t I ? ” 

“ You do, indeed ! ” she answered gratefully, for the 
wounded, anxious heart there was something both soothing 
and reassuring in the kindly manner and frank, manly 
voice. 

A certain latent energy, a suppressed power, lurked about 
Vandeleur, essentially pleasing to women, and Norah felt 
the influence of these male qualities to their full extent 
while he brought her the promised tea, disposed her chair 
out of the draught, and seated himself by her side. 

Then he led the conversation gradually to the news she 
most desired to hear. It was Vandeleur’s habit to affect a 
good-humoured superiority in his intercourse with young 
ladies, as of a man who was so much their senior that he 
might profess interest without consequence and admiration 
without impertinence. Perhaps he found it answer. Per- 

95 

L. ofc. 


96 


THE WHITE ROSE 


haps, after all, it was but the result of an inherent bonhomie, 
and a frankness bordering on eccentricity. At any rate, he 
began in his usual strain — 

“ How kind of you. Miss Welby, to come and sit quietly 
with an old gentleman in an ice-house when you might be 
dancing forty miles an hour with a young one in an oven. 
Dandy Burton, or whatever his name is — the man with the 
shirt-front — must hate me pretty cordially. That’s another 
conquest. Miss Welby ; and so is his friend, the fat one. 
You spare none of us. Old and young ! No quarter. No 
forgiveness. Let me put your cup down ! ” 

“Hike the fat one best,” she answered, smiling, while 
she gave him her cup. 

He moved away to place it in safety, and she did not fail 
to notice with gratitude that he kept his back turned while 
he proceeded 

“ The other’s the flower of them all. Miss Welby, to my 
fancy, and I am very glad I was able to do him a turn. He 
got his commission, you know, the very day you left Mar- 
ston. I should think he must have joined by now. I dare 
say he is hard at work at the goose-step already.” 

When he looked at her again, he could see by the way her 
whole face had brightened that she heard this intelligence 
for the first time. He observed, with inward satisfaction, 
that there could have been no interchange of correspondence ; 
and reflecting that young ladies seldom read the papers very 
diligently, or interest themselves in gazettes, was able to 
appreciate the value of the news he had just communicated. 

Norah preseiwed her self-command, as, whatever may be 
their wealmess under physical pressure, the youngest and 
simplest woman can in a moral emergency. It T7as un- 
speakable relief to learn there was a reason for his past 
neglect and present non-appearance ; but she felt on thorns 
of anxiety to hear where he had gone, what he was doing, 
when there would be a chance of seeing him again ; and 
therefore she answered in a calm, cold voice that by no 
means deceived her companion 

“ I never heard a word of it ! I am very glad for Mr. 
Ainslie’s sake. I believe he was exceedingly anxious to 
get his commission. Oh ! Mr. Vandeleur, how kind of you 
to interest yourself about him ! ” 


BEAGTION 


97 


We are all interested in him, I think, Miss Welby,” he 
answered with a meaning smile. “I told you long ago I 
thought he had the makings of a man about him. Well, he 
has got a fair start. We won’t lose sight of him, any of us; 
but you know he must follow up his profession.” 

She knew it too well, and would not have stood in the 
way of his success ; no, not to have seen him every day, and 
all day long. And now, while she felt it might be years 
before they would meet again, there was yet a pleasure in 
talking of him, after the suspense and uncertainty of the 
last three days, that threw a reflected glow of interest even 
on the person to whom she could unbosom herself. Next 
to Gerard, though a long way off, and papa, of course, she 
felt she liked Mr. Yandeleur better than anybody. 

He read her like a book, and continued to play the same 
game. 

‘‘I thought you would be pleased to know about him,” 
said he, keeping his eyes, according to custom, averted from 
her face. “ The others are all very well, but Ainslie is 
really a promising lad, and some day. Miss Welby, you and 
I will be proud of him. But he’s only reached the foot of 
the ladder yet, and it takes a long time to get to the top. 
Come, Miss Welby, yom* tea has done you good. You’re 
more like yourself again ; and do you know that is a very 
becoming dress you have got on? I wish I was young 
enough to dance with you, but I’m not, so I’ll watch you 
instead. It’s no compliment to you to say you’re very good 
to look at indeed.” 

“lam glad you think so,” she answered, quitting his arm 
at the door of the dancing-room ; and he fancied, though it 
was probably only fancy, that she had leaned heavier on it 
while they retmmed. At any rate, Vandelem’ betook him- 
self to the society of his other guests, by no means dissatis- 
fied with the progress he had made. 

And Norah embarked on the intricacies of the “ Lancers,” 
under the pilotage of Dolly Egremont, who contrived to 
make her laugh heartily more than once before the set was 
finished. She recovered her spirits rapidly. After all, was 
she not young, handsome, well-dressed, admired, and fond 
of dancing? She put off reflection, misgivings, sorrow, 
memories, and regrets, till the ball was over at last. Lady 

7 


98 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Baker, dull as she might he, was yet sufficiently a woman 
to notice the change in her young friend’s demeanour, and 
having seen her come from the conservatoiy on theii’ host’s 
arm, not only drew her own conclusions, but confided them 
to her neighbour, Mrs. Brown. 

“My dear,” said her ladyship, “I’ve found out some- 
thing. Mr. Vandeleur will marry again ; — you mark my 
words. And he’s made his choice in this very room to- 
night.” 

Mrs. Brown, a lady of mature years, with rather a false 
smile, and very false teeth, showed the whole of them, well- 
pleased, for she owned a marriageable daughter, at that 
moment flirting egregiously with Vandeleur, in the same 
room ; but her face fell when Lady Baker, whose impartial 
obtuseness spared neither friend nor foe, continued in the 
same monotonous voice — 

“ He might do worse, and he might do better. He’s done 
some foolish things in his life, and perhaps he thinks it’s 
time to reform. I hope he will, I’m sm*e. She’s giddy and 
flighty, no doubt ; but I dare say it’s the best thing for him, 
after all ! ” 

Mrs. Brown, assenting, began to have doubts about her 
daughter’s chance. 

“ Who is it ? and how d’ye know ? ” she demanded rather 
austerely, though in a gTiarded whisper. 

“It’s Norah Welby, and I heard him ask her,” replied 
Lady Baker, recklessly, and in an audible voice. 

“ Poor girl ! I pity her ! ” said the other, touching her 
forehead, as she passed into the supper-room and com- 
menced on cold chicken and tongue. 

She pitied herself, poor Norah, an hour afterwards, 
looking blankly out from the brougham window on the 
dismal grey of the summer’s morning. Papa was fast 
asleep in his corner, satisfied with his victory over the Greek 
particle, and thoroughly persuaded that his darling had 
enjoyed her dance. The pleasure, the excitement was over, 
and now the reaction had begun. It seemed so strange, so 
blank, so sad, to leave one of these festive gatherings, and 
not to have danced with Gerard, not even to have seen him; 
worse than all, to have no meeting in anticipation at which 
she could tell him how she had missed him, for which she 


BEACTION 


99 


could long and count the hours as she used to do when 
every minute brought it nearer yet. What was the use of 
counting hours now, when years would intervene before she 
should look on his frank young face, hear his kind, melodious 
voice ? Her eyes filled and ran over, hut papa was fast 
asleep, so what did it signify ? She was so lonely, so miser- 
able ! In all the darkness there was but one spark of light, 
in all the sorrow hut one grain of consolation. Strangely 
enough, or rather, perhaps, according to the laws of sym- 
pathy and the force of association, that light, that solace 
seemed to identify themselves with the presence and com- 
panionship of Mr. Vandeleur. 


CHAPTER XIII 

GOOSE-STEP 

Few places could perhaps be less adapted for a private 
rehearsal than the staircase of a lodging-house in a pro- 
vincial town. A provincial town enlivened only by a theatre 
open for six weeks of the year, and rejoicing in the occa- 
sional presence of the depot from which a marching regi- 
ment on foreign service drew its supplies of men and officers. 
Nevertheless, this unpromising locality had been selected 
for the purpose of studying his part by an individual whose 
exterior denoted he could belong to no other profession than 
that of an actor. As the man stood gesticulating on the 
landing, he appeared unconscious of everything in the 
world hut the character it was his purpose to assume. 
Fanny Draper, dodging out of a small, humbly-furnished 
bedroom, was somewhat startled by the energy with 
which this enthusiast threw himself at her feet, and seiz- 
ing her hand in both his own, exclaimed with alarming 
vehemence 

“ Adorable being, has not your heart long since apprised 
ye that Rinaldo is your devoted slave ? He loves ye ; he 
worships ye ; he lives but in your glances ; he dies beneath 
your ” 

“ Lor, Mr. Bruff,” exclaimed Fanny, “ why, how you go 
on ! I declare love-making seems never to be out of your 
head.” 

Mr. Bruff, thus adjured, rose, not very nimbly, to his feet, 
and assuming, with admirable versatility, what he believed 
to be the air of a man of consummate fashion, apologised 
for the eccentricity of his demeanour. 

100 


GOOSE-STEP 


101 


“Madam,” said he, “I feel that on this, as on former 
occasions, your penetration will distinguish between the 
man and his professional avocations. I am now engrossed 
with the part of a lover in genteel comedy. My exterior 
will doubtless suggest to you that I am — eh ? what shall I 
say ? — not exactly disqualified for the character ! ” 

Fanny glanced at his exterior — a square figure, a tightly- 
buttoned coat, a close-shaved face, marked with deep lines, 
and illumined by a prominent red nose. 

She laughed and shook her head. 

“Don’t keep me long then, Mr. Bruff, and don’t make 
love to me in earnest, please, more than you can help.” 

While she spoke she looked anxiously along the passage, 
as though afraid of observation. 

Mr. Brufi* at once became Einaldo to the core. 

“ Stand there, madam, I beg of you,” said he. “A little 
farther off, if you please. Head toned somewhat away, 
and a softening glance. Could you manage a softening- 
glance, do you think, when I come to the cue ^ and dies 
beneath yonr scorn ' Are you ready?” and Mr. Bruff 
plumped down on his knees once more to begin it all over 
again. 

Fanny threw herself into the part. It was evidently not 
the first time that she had thus served as a lay-figure, so to 
speak, for the prosecution of Mr. Bruff’s studies in his art. 
She sneered, she flouted, she bridled, she languished, and 
finally bent over his close-cropped head in an access of 
tenderness relieved by a flood of tears, with an air of pas- 
sionate reality that, as Mr. Bruff observed while he wiped 
the dust from his trousers, and the perspiration from his 
face, was “ more touching, and infinitely more true, than 
nature itself.” 

“You were born to be an actress,” said he; “and I 
shall take care that you have box-orders every night while 
our company remains. It is a pleasm-e to know, even in 
such empty houses as these, that there is one person to 
whom a man can play and feel that his efforts are 
appreciated, and the niceties of his calling understood.” 

Then Mr. Bruff lifted his hat with an air combining, as 
he was persuaded, the roistering demeanour of professed 
libertinism with the dignity of a stage nobleman, sikle 


102 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Louis QuatorzCy and went his way rejoicing to the adjacent 
tavern. 

Fanny must, indeed, have been a good actress. No 
sooner was he gone than her whole face fell, and on its 
fresh rosy beauty came that anxious look it is so painful to 
see in the countenances of the young — ^the look that is never 
there unless the conscience be ill at ease — the look of a 
wounded, weary spirit dissatisfied with itself. She waited 
on the landing for a minute or two, listening intently, then 
stole downstairs, glided along the passage on tip-toe, and 
with a pale cheek and beating heart turned the handle of 
the sitting-room door. 

The apartment was empty, and Fanny drew breath. On 
the table lay a letter that had arrived but a few minutes 
by the post. She pounced upon it, and fled upstairs as 
noiselessly, but far more quickly than she came down. 
Then she locked the door, and tore open the envelope with 
the cruel gesture of one who destroys some venomous or 
obnoxious reptile. 

Had she been but half an horn’ later, had the post been 
delayed, had an accident happened to the mail-train, my 
story would never have been written. Ah ! these little bits 
of paper, what destinies they carry about with them, under 
their trim envelopes and their demure, neatly-written 
addresses ! We stick a penny stamp on their outside, and 
that modest insurance covers a freight that is sometimes 
worth more than all the gold and silver in the country. 
How we thirst for them to arrive ! How blank our faces, 
and how dull oiu’ hearts, when they fail us ! How bitter 
we are, how unldnd and unjust towards the guiltless corres- 
pondent, whom we make answerable for a hundred possi- 
bilities of accident ! And with what a reaction of tenderness 
returns the flow of an affection that has been thus 
obstructed for a day. 

Fanny read the letter over more than once. The first time 
her face took the leaden, ashy hue of the dead ; but her 
courage seldom failed her long, either for good or evil, and 
there was a very resolute look about her eyes and mouth 
ere she was half way through the second perusal. Had it 
reached its rightful owner, I think it would have been 
covered with kisses and laid next to a warm, impulsive. 


GOOSE-STEP 


103 


wayward, but loving heart. It was a production, too, that 
might have been read aloud at Charing Cross without 
prejudice to the writer’s modesty and fair fame. Here 
it is : — 

“Dear Mr. Ainslie, — I have to thank you for your 
letter in papa’s name and my own. He was very much 
pleased to hear you had joined your regiment, and we all 
wish you every success and happiness in your new pro- 
fession. We were disappointed not to see you before you 
left Mr. Archer, who always speaks of you as his favourite 
pupil; and, indeed, I had no idea, when we went to 
London, that you were going to leave our neighbourhood 
so soon. We should certainly have put off our journey for 
a day or two had we thought we were not even to bid you 
good-bye. But you know you have our very best wishes 
for your welfare. I will give your message to papa, and 
shall be so glad to hear again if we can be of any service to 
you here. Even if you have nothing very particular to say ^ 
you may find time to send us a few lines. Your favourite 
roses are not yet faded, and I gathered some this morning, 
which are standing on my writing-table now. Good-bye, 
dear Mr. Ainslie, with kindest regards from us all, believe 
me ever, 

“ Yours very truly, 

“ Leonora Welby. 

“ Marston Kectory, Sept. — th.” 

Then the last page was crossed (quite unnecessarily, for 
there was plenty of space below the signature) with two 
lines, — “ I think I have written you a letter as correct and 
proper as your own, but I was so glad to get it all the 
same.” 

Fanny’s smile was not pleasant when she concluded this 
harmless effusion. It deepened and hardened round her 
mouth, too, while she placed the letter in an envelope, 
sealed it carefully, and directed it to John Vandeleur, Esq., 

Oakover, shire ; but it left her face very grave and 

sad, under a smart little bonnet and double black veil, 
while she walked stealthily to the post-office and dropped 
her missive in the box. 


104 


THE WHITE BOSE 


She had plenty of time to spare. Gerard was still in the 
little mess-room of the 250th Regiment, smoking a cigar, 
after the squad drill it was necessary he should undergo, 
and thinking of Norah, perhaps less than usual, because he 
was persuaded that his own letter must ere this have come 
to hand and that she would answer it at once. 

He had joined his regiment, or rather its depot, imme- 
diately on his appointment, without availing himself of the 
two months’ leave indulgently granted by the Horse Guards 
on such occasions, — his great-uncle, an arbitrary and un- 
reasonable old gentleman, having made this condition on 
purchasing the commission and outfit for his relative. 
Ainslie arrived in barracks consequently without uniforms, 
and without furniture, so he learned a good deal of his 
drill in a shooting-jacket ; and as the depot was on the eve 
of a march, took cheap lodgings in the neighbourhood, 
which he seldom visited but to dress for dinner and go to 
bed. He had led this life for some little time before he 
could summon up courage to wi’ite to Miss Welby, and he 
was now looking forward with a thrill of delight to finding 
her answer at his lodgings, when he returned, which he 
meant to do the moment he had finished his cigar. 

The conversation of Ensign Ainslie and his comrades, I 
am hound to admit, was not instructive nor even amusing. 
They were smoking and partaking also of soda-water, 
strengthened by stimulants, in a hare, comfortless, little 
room, littered with newspapers, and redolent of tobacco, 
both stale and fresh. Time seemed to hang heavy on their 
hands. They lounged and straddled in every variety of 
attitude, on hard wooden chairs ; and they spoke in every 
variety of tone, from the gruff bass of the red-faced veteran 
to the broken falsetto of the lately-joined recruit. A jaded 
mess - waiter, or a trim orderly - sergeant, appeared at 
intervals ; but such interruptions in no way affected the 
flow of conversation, which toned on the personal charms 
of a lady, ascertained to have arrived lately in the town, 
and the mystery attached to her choice of residence. 

Captain Hughes, a colonial lady-killer of much experi- 
ence, expressed himself in terms of unqualified approval. 

“ The best-looking woman I’ve seen since we left 
Manchester,” insisted the captain, dogmatically. “I 


GOOSE-STEP 


105 


followed her all the way down Market Street, yesterday, 
and I give you my honour, sir, she’s as straight on her 
ankles as an opera-dancer ; with a figure — I haven’t seen 
such a figure since I got my company. I’ll tell you. She 
reminded me of ‘ the Slasher.’ You remember ‘ the 
Slasher,’ Jones? — girl that threw you over, last fall, so 
coolly, at Quebec.” 

Jones, a young warrior of fair complexion, and unobtrusive 
manners, owned that he had not forgotten ; blushing the 
while uncomfortably, because that “the Slasher’s” glances 
had wounded him in a vital place. 

“I know where she lives, too,” resumed the captain, 
triumphantly. “ I followed the trail, sir, like a Red 
Indian. Ah ! they can’t dodge a fellow that’s had my 
practice in the game, even if they want to, which they 
don’t. I’d two checks — one at a grocer’s and one at a 
glove-shop ; but I ran her to ground at last.” 

“ You’ll tell me ! ” lisped little Baker, commonly called 
“ Crumbs,” the youngest of the party, senior only to 
Gerard in the regiment, but looking like a mere child by 
his side. “ You’ll tell me^ of course, because I’m in your 
own company. You can’t get out of it ,* and we’ll walk 
down this afternoon, and call together.” 

“ Crumbs ! ” observed his captain, impressively, “you’re 
the last man in the regiment I’d trust.” (Crumbs looked 
immensely delighted.) “Besides, you little beggar, you 
ought to be back at school ; and if I did my duty as the 
captain of your company, I’d make the Adjutant write to 
your mother and tell her so.” 

“ Crumbs,” no whit abashed, ordered a tumbler of brandy 
and soda as big as himself, from which he presently 
emerged, breathless, and observed, for anybody to take up 
— “ Ainslie’s cut you all out. He lodges in the same 
house ! ” 

Every eye was now turned towards Ainslie, and Captain 
Hughes began to fear a rival in the line he had followed 
hitherto with such success. “ I don’t think it can be the 
same woman,” said he, checking the mirth of the youngsters 
with a frown. “ She lives in Ainslie’s lodgings, I grant 
you, but she can only have come there yesterday, or I 
must have seen her before. Isn’t it so, Ainslie?” 


108 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“You know more about it than I do,” answered the 
unconscious Gerard. “ The only women I’ve seen in the 
house are Mother Briggs herself and a poor servant-girl 
they call H’ann — very strong of the H. It must have 
been Mother Briggs you followed home, Hughes. I’ll 
congratulate her on her conquest when I go back.” 

But Captain Hughes, nettled by loud shouts of laughter, 
vigorously repudiated such an accusation, and indeed 
seemed inclined to treat the matter with some slight 
display of temper, when the harmless Jones, who had been 
cooling his face by looking out of the window, changed 
the subject for another almost equally congenial to his 
comrades. 

“ Blessed if there isn’t Snipe dismounting at the gate! ” 
he exclaimed joj^fully; “there’s a drummer holding his 
nag. What a spicy chestnut it is ! Holloa, Snipy ! come 
in, won’t you, and have a B. and S. ? ” 

A voice was heard to reply in the affirmative ; and before 
the B. and S. — signifying a beaker of brandy and soda- 
water — could make its appearance, Mr. Snipe walked into 
the room, and sat himself down amongst the officers with 
some little shamefacedness, which he strove to conceal by 
squaring his elbows, pulling down his shirt-cuffs, and 
coaxing a luxuriant crop of brown whiskers under his chin. 
Mr. Snipe was one of those enterprising individuals who 
make a livelihood by riding steeplechases, and are yet 
supposed by a pious fiction never to receive money for thus 
exerting their energies and risking their necks. Concerning 
Mr. Snipe’s antecedents, the officers of the 250th were 
pleasantly ignorant. He had rented a farm, and failed. 
Had gone into business as a horse-dealer, and failed. Had 
been appointed to the Militia, but somehow never joined 
his corps. Had been, ostensibly, in all the good things of 
the Turf for the last three years ; yet seemed to be none 
the richer, and none the less hungry for a chance. Had 
been even taken into partnership by a large cattle dealer, 
when at his lowest ebb, and bought out of the concern by 
his confiding principal before three months expired. Mr. 
Snipe always said he was too sharp for the business, and, I 
believe, his partner thought so too. Since then he had 
been riding at all weights, over all courses, wherever horses 


GOOSE-STEP 


107 


were pitted against each other to gallop and jump, or to be 
pulled and fall, as the case might be, and the trainers’ 
orders might direct. Mr. Snipe had figured in France, in 
Germany, in Belgium, and once on a thrice auspicious 
occasion had been within a stirrup leather’s thickness of 
winning the Liverpool : that is to say, but for its breaking, 
he couldn’t have lost ! He seemed in easy circumstances 
for a considerable period after this misfortune, smoked the 
best of cigars, and drank a pint of sherry every day, 
between luncheon and dinner-time. 

This gentleman was a wiry, well-built, athletic man, 
somewhat below the middle size, but extremely strong for 
his weight. He could shoot, play rackets, whist, and 
cricket better than most people, and was a consummate 
horseman on any animal under any circumstances. His 
countenance, though good-looking, was not prepossessing ; 
and his manners argued want of confidence, not so much 
in his impudence as in his social standing. What he 
might have been among ladies I am not prepared to say, 
but he seemed awkward and ill at ease even before such 
indulgent critics as the officers of the 250th Foot. 

He carried it off, however, with a certain assumption of 
bravado, and entered the mess-room with that peculiar gait 
— half limp, half swagger — which it is impossible for any 
man to accomplish who does not spend the greatest part of 
his life in the saddle. Captain Hughes, as possessing an 
animal of his own in training, treated him with con- 
siderable deference ; while the younger officers, including 
Jones, gazed on him with an admiration almost sublime in 
its intensity. 

“ How’s the horse ? ” said this worthy, addressing him- 
self at once to the captain, without taking any more notice 
of his entertainers than a down-cast, circular, half-bow to 
be divided amongst them ; “ how’s ‘ Booby by Idle-boy ? ’ 
You haven’t scratched him, have ye, at the last minute? 
I tell ye, he’ll carry all the money to-morrow ; and he 
ought to be near winning, too — see if he won’t ! ” 

“ The horse is doing good work,” answered Hughes, 
delighted to be thus recognised in his double capacity of 
sportsman and dandy before all his young admirers. “I 
make no secrets about him. He galloped this morning 


108 


THE WHITE BOSE 


with ‘ Fleui’-de-Lys,’ and he will run to-morrow strictly on 
the square.” 

Mr. Snipe shot a glance from his keen eye in the 
speaker’s face, and looked down at his own boots again 
directly. 

“ Of course ! of course ! ” he repeated ; “ and you can’t 
get more than two to one about him, neither here nor in 
town. Who’s to ride him. Captain? I suppose you 
couldn’t get up at the weight? ” 

“ Impossible,” answered Hughes, complacently, and 
trying to look as if he had ever dreamt of such a thing. 
“ My brother officer, Mr. Ainslie, has promised to steer 
him for me to-morrow ; and I agree with you we have 
a very fair chance of winning.” 

Gerard, thus distinguished, came forward from the fire- 
place, and observed, modestly : 

‘‘ I’ll do my best ; but you know, Hughes, I have never 
ridden a hurdle-race in my life.” 

Mr. Snipe’s little red betting-book was half-way out of 
his pocket, but at this candid avowal he thrust it back 
again unopened. His quick eye had taken in Gerard’s 
active figTire and frank, fearless face, without seeming to 
be lifted from the ground; and he knew how dangerous, 
on a good horse was an inexperienced performer, who 
would go away in front. On second thoughts, however, he 
drew it out once more; and taking a pull at his brandy and 
soda, asked, in a very business-like tone — 

“ What will anybody lay me against ‘ Lothario ’ ? I’ll 
take six to one he’s placed. First, second, or third — 
1, 2, 3, or a win. Come ! he’s as slow as a mile-stone, 
but he can stay for a week. I’ll take five if I ride him 
myself ! ” 

Then began a hubbub of voices, a production of betting- 
books, and a confusion of tongues, in the midst of which 
Gerard made his escape to his own lodgings, and rushed to 
the table whereon he was accustomed to find his letters. 
Something like a pang of real physical pain shot through 
him to see it bare, and for one moment he felt bitterly 
angry in his disappointment. Then next came a rush of 
contending feelings — love, humiliation, mistrust, despon- 
dency, and a morbid, unworthy desire that she, too, might 


GOOSE-STEP 


109 


learn what it was to suffer the pain she had chosen to 
inflict. Then his pride rose to the rescue, and he resolved 
to leave off* caring for anything, take life as it came, and 
enjoy the material pleasures of the present, unburdened by 
thought for the future, still less (and again the pain shot 
through him) haunted by memories of the past. Altogether 
he was in a likely frame of mind, when fairly mounted on 
“ Booby by Idle-boy,” to make the pace very good before 
he was caught. 


CHAPTER XIV 


WEARING THE GREEN 

The humoiu’S and events of a remote country race-course 
would be interesting, I imagine, only to the most sporting 
readers ; and for such there is an ample supply provided in 
a periodical literature exclusively devoted to those amuse- 
ments or pursuits which many people make the chiel 
business of life. 

It is unnecessary, therefore, to dwell upon the various 
incidents of such a gathering : the feeble bustle at the 
railway station, the spurious excitement promoted by early 
beer at the hotel, the general stagnation in the streets, or 
the dreary appearance of that thinly-sprinkled meadow, 
which on all other days in the year was called the Cow- 
pasture, but on this occasion was entitled the Race-course. 
Let us rather take a peep at the horses themselves as they 
are walked to and fro in a railed-off space, behind a rough 
wooden edifice doing duty for a stand, and judge with our 
own eyes of their claims to success. 

There are four about to start for the hurdle race, and two 
of these, ‘‘Tom-tit” and “The Conspirator,” are so 
swaddled up in clothing, that nothing of them is to be 
detected save some doubtful legs and two long square tails. 
Their riders are drinking sherry, with very pale faces, 
preparatory to “ weighing-in ; ” and it is remarkable that 
their noses borrow more colour from the generous fluid than 
their cheeks. Notwithstanding so reassuring an employ- 
ment, they have little confidence in themselves or their 
horses. They do not expect to win, and are not likely to 
be disappointed ; for having heard gTeat things of ‘‘ Booby 
110 


WEABING THE GBEEN 


111 


by Idle-Boy,” and entertaining besides misgivings that Mr. 
Snipe would hardly have brought Lothario ” all this 
distance for nothing, it has dawned upon them that they 
had better have saved their entrance-money. Besides, 
they have even now seen some work-people putting up 
the hurdle, and they wish they were well out of it 
altogether. 

Mr. Snipe, on the contrary, clad in a knowing great- 
coat, with goloshes over his neat racing boots, and a heavy 
straight whip under his arm, walks into the enclosure, 
accompanied by a friend as sharp-looking as himself, with 
his usual do-wncast glances and equestrian shamble, but 
with a confidence in his own powers that it requires no 
sherry to fortify nor to create. He superintends carefully 
the saddling and bridling of Lothario, an attention the 
animal acknowledges by laid-back ears and a well-directed 
attempt to kick his jockey in the stomach. Mr. Snipe 
gi’ins playfully. “ If you was only as fond of me as I am of 
you ! ” says he, between his teeth; and taking his friend’s 
arm, whispers in his ear. The friend — who looks like a 
gambling-house keeper out of employment — disappears, 
losing himself with marvellous rapidity in the crowd beneath 
the stand. 

And now Gerard, clad in boots and breeches of consider- 
able pretension, and attired in a green silk jacket and white 
cap — the colours of Captain Hughes — emerges from the 
weighing-shed, where he has first pulled down the indis- 
pensable twelve stone ; and surrounded by admiring brother 
officers, walks daintily towards his horse. The young man’s 
eye is bright, and the colour stands in his cheek. He 
means to win if he can, and is not the least nervous. 
Captain Hughes, who thinks it looks correct to be on 
extremely confidential terms, remains assiduously at his 
elbow, and whispers instructions in his ear from time to 
time, as he has seen great noblemen at Ascot do by some 
celebrated jockey. ‘‘Don’t disappoint the horse, Gerard,” 
says he, one minute; “Perhaps you’d better wait on 
Lothario, and come when you see Snipe begin,” the next; 
with various other directions of a contradictory nature, to 
each of which Gerard contents himself by answering, “All 
right ! ” meaning religiously to do his very best for the race. 


112 


THE WHITE HOSE 


But if the rider’s nerves are unshaken by the prospect of 
a struggle for victory, as much cannot be said for the 
horse. “ Booby by Idle-boy ” is not quite thorough-bred, 
but has, nevertheless, been put through so severe a prepara- 
tion that it might have served to disgust an “Eclipse.” 
In the language of the stable, he has been “ trained to 
fiddle-strings;” and neither courage nor temper are the 
better for the ordeal. His skin looks smooth, but his flanks 
are hollow ; his eye is excited, his ears are restless ,* he 
champs and chums at his bridle till the foam stands thickly 
on the bit ; he winces at the slightest movement, and betrays 
altogether an iiTitable desire to be off, and get the whole 
thing over, that argues ill for success. 

Mr. Snipe, sitting at his ease on Lothario, watches his 
adversary, swung by a soldier-servant into the saddle. 

“I’m blessed if the young ’un isn’t a workman!” he 
mutters, while he marks Gerard’s easy seat, and the light 
touch with which one hand fingers the rein, while the other 
wanders caressingly over the horse’s neck ; but his quick 
eye has already marked that the Booby’s cm*b- chain is 
somewhat tight, and sidling up just out of kicking distance, 
Mr. Snipe renews his offer to take five to one about “ his 
own brute,” observing that “it is a sporting bet, for he 
does not really believe Lothario has the ghost of a chance ! ” 

Gerard declines, however ; alleging that he is only there 
to ride, and knows nothing about the merits of the horses, 
while he turns Booby out of the enclosure, and sends him 
for a “ spin ” down the course, followed by the others, 
with the exception of Mr. Snipe, who contents himself 
with a mild, shuffling little apology for a trot, that by no 
means enhances Lothario’s character among the spectators. 

They are much more pleased with the “Booby by Idle- 
boy,” who goes raking down the meadow, tossing his head, 
reaching wildly at his bridle, and giving the rider a great 
deal of unnecessary trouble to stay and keep his horse in 
the right place. Gerard handles him with great skill, and 
pulling up opposite the stand, receives yet further instruc- 
tions from Captain Hughes, who has already got his glasses 
out of their case. 

“Don’t disappoint him, Gerard! ” he reiterates loudly, 
looking round the while for the applause he considers his 




WEABINQ THE GBEEN 


113 


due. “ Make the pace as good as you can ! Come away 
with him in front, and win as you like ! ” 

Mr. Snipe here telegraphs a nod to his friend under the 
stand, and that speculator, after a few hurried words with 
a respectable farmer and an officer of the 250th, takes a 
pencil from his mouth and writes something down in a little 
red hook. 

The Starter, a neighbouring Master of Harriers, already 
brandishes a flag in his hand. Let us go up into the stand, 
and witness the race from that convenient vantage-ground. 

A very well-dressed woman, with a black veil over her 
face so thickly doubled as to serve for a mask, is looking 
on with considerable interest, and whispering an observa- 
tion from time to time in the ear of her cavalier — a close- 
shaven man, with a prominent red nose. She is evidently 
nervous, and crushes into illegible creases the printed card 
she holds in her hand. Mr. Bruff, on the contrary — for it is 
that celebrated actor who has taken on himself the pleasing 
task of attending Fanny Draper to the races — is minutely 
observant of the demeanour affected by those who ride. 
His manager meditates bringing out a piece of his own 
writing, under the title of “ Fickle Fortune ; or, the 
Gentleman Jockey,” and Mr. Bruff cannot suffer such an 
opportunity as the present to go by unimproved. Every 
turn of Mr. Snipe’s body, every inflection of his somewhat 
unpleasant voice, is a lesson for the actor in the leading 
character he hopes hereafter to assume. 

Fanny gazes at Gerard with all her eyes. There is some- 
thing very romantic and captivating to her ill-regulated 
mind in the teims on which they stand. She is concerned 
in an intrigue of which he is the principal object ; she is 
living, unknown to him, in the same house ; she is watching 
his actions, and, above all, his correspondence, every horn- of 
the day ; and she is doing her best and wickedest to detach 
him from the woman he loves. There is a horrible fascina- 
tion in all this, no doubt ; and then, how well he looks in 
his silk jacket ! 

“ He’s a handsome fellow, too, isn’t he, that one in 
green? ” she whispers to Mr. Bruff. I hope he’ll win, 
I’m sure — and I think he must ! 

“ He’s well made-up,” answers her companion, absently; 

8 


114 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“ but he don’t look the part like the quiet one. I see how 
it’s done ! A meaning expression throughout ; a glance 
that nothing escapes ; a flash at intervals, but the general 
tone very much kept down. It’s original business. It’s 
striking out a new line altogether. I think it ought to 
suit me ! ” 

Fanny turns very pale. 

“ Bother ! ” says she. “ They’re off ! ” 

So they are. After several false starts, occasioned I am 
bound to admit by the perverseness of Mr. Snipe, and 
which nearly drive “The Booby” mad, while they elicit 
much bad language and a threat of complaint to the 
Stewards from the Master of Harriers, who is accustomed 
to have things his own way, the four horses get off, and 
bound lightly over the first flight of hurdles, with no more 
interesting result than that Conspirator nearly unships his 
rider, and the jockey of Tom- tit loses his cap. Then, 
keeping pretty close together, they come round the far-end 
of the meadow at a pace more than usually merry for the 
commencement of a race, due to the violence of the Booby, 
increased by Lothario’s proximity at his quarters. 

And now they reach the second leap. Tom-tit, follow- 
ing the others, jumps it like a deer, but his jockey tumbles 
off, and lies for a moment motionless, as if he was hurt. 

Fanny begins to think it dangerous, and averts her eyes. 

“ Is green still leading?” she asks in a faint voice. 

“Green still leading!” echoes Mr. Bruff; but he is 
thinking less of the sport than of a peculiar twist in Mr. 
Snipe’s features as he inspected the saddling of his horse 
before the start. 

And now Conspirator is also out of the race, and the 
struggle is between Lothario and The Booby as they 
approach the last flight of hurdles. Fanny cannot resist 
raising her head to look, but she is horribly frightened. 
Gerard gathers his horse very skilfully for the effbrt, but 
The Booby, besides being fractious, is also blown. Mr. 
Snipe, too, on Lothario, has now come alongside, and 
without actually jostling him, edges his own horse, who is 
in perfect command, near enough to his adversary’s to 
discompose him very much in his take-off. The Booby, 
giving his head a frantic shake, sticks his nose in the air 


WEABING THE GREEN 


116 


and refuses to be pacified. Gerard is only aware that his 
horse is out of his hand, that the animal has disappeared 
somehow between his rider’s legs, that a green wall of turf 
rises perpendicularly to his face, that nose, mouth, and eyes 
are filled with a sweet, yet acrid fluid, and that he is 
swallowed up alive in a heaving, rolling, earthy, and 
tenacious embrace. 

What Fanny saw was a shower of splintered wood flying 
into the air, a horse’s belly and girths, with four kicking 
legs striking convulsively upward, and a green jacket 
motionless on the sward, shut in, ere she could breathe, 
by a swarm of dark, shifting figures, increasing in an 
instant to a crowd. 

She was not afraid now. “Mr. Bruff!” exclaimed the 
girl, clutching his arm as in a vice, and turning on him a 
white face and a pair of shining eyes that scared even the 
actor, “bring the fly down there — quick! He mustn’t lie 
on the damp earth. Don’t stop me. Before I get to him 
he might ” 

She choked, without finishing her sentence, but she was 
out of the stand like a lapwing, while Mr. Bruff, with 
almost equal alacrity, went to fetch the fly. 

He could not but observe, however, that Mr. Snipe, 
returning to weigh after an easy victory, nodded his head 
to his confederate vdth a gesture that was worth rounds of 
applause. He overheard, too, a remark that accompanied 
the action — 

“You may bid them a hundred-and-fifty for the Booby, 
if you can’t get him for less. He’d have landed it if he’d 
been properly ridden. I’ll lay two to one I ” 


CHAPTER XV 


“ THE WHITE WITCH ” 

“ It was a pity,” said half the county, that Mr. Vandeleur 
“gave so little” at Oakover. Never was a place more 
adapted for out-of-door gatherings, having for their object 
the wearing of becoming dresses and the general discomfi- 
ture of the male sex. There were walks within half-a-mile 
of the house, along which it was impossible to stroll in 
safety with a fair companion under a summer sun. There 
were pheasant-houses to go and see, standing apart in con- 
venient nooks and shady recesses. There was a little lake, 
and on its surface floated a little skiff calculated to hold 
only two people at a time. Above all, there was the spring 
of ice-cold water under the hill in the deer-park, that was 
obviously a special provision of nature for the promotion of 
pic-nics. 

It is one of the last fine days of a summer that has lingered 
on into the early autumn. The blue sky is laced with strips 
of motionless white cloud. The sward is burnished and 
slippery with long-continued drought. Not a blade of arid 
grass, not a leaf of feathery, yellowing fern stirs in the 
warm, still, sunny atmosphere. Gigantic elms stand out 
in masses of foliage almost black with the luxuriance of a 
prime that is just upon the turn ; and from their fastnesses 
the wood-pigeon pours its drowsy plaint — now far, now near, 
in all its repetitions suggestive still of touching memories, 
not unpleasing languor, and melancholy repose. The deer 
have retired to the farthest extremity of their haunts, 
scared, it would seem, by the white legs of two Oakover 


THE WHITE WITCH 


117 


footmen, moving under an old elm, unpacking sundry 
hampers, and laying a large tablecloth on the grass beneath 
its shade. Vandeleur understands comfort, and with him a 
pic-nic simply means the best possible cold dinner that can 
be provided by a French cook, laid out by servants well 
drilled in all the minute observances of a great house. To- 
day he has a gathering of his neighbours for the express 
purpose of eating and drinking in the deer-park instead of 
the dining-room. He is coming up the hill now, walking 
slowly with a lady on his arm, and followed by a pony- 
carriage, a barouche, and his own mail-phaeton, all freighted 
with guests who prefer a drive to a half-mile walk on so 
broiling a day. The lady who has taken her host’s arm for 
the short ascent at the end of their jornmey is dressed, as 
usual, in pink. Miss Tregunter has been told by a 
gentleman now present that no colour suits her so well. 
Consequently she is pink all over — pink dress, pink bonnet, 
pink ribbons, pink cheeks. “ Ton my soul ! ” says 
Vandeleur, ‘‘ you look like a picotee ! I haven’t such a 
flower in the garden. I wonder whether you’d bear trans- 
planting!” Miss Tregunter, conscious that such a remark, 
though it would almost amount to an offer from anybody 
else, is only ‘‘Mr. Vandeleur’s way,” laughs and blushes, 
and puts her pretty pink parasol down to hide her pretty 
pink face. 

Dolly Egremont, in the pony-carriage with Miss Welby, 
begins to fidget ; and Dandy Burton wishes he had put on 
the other neckcloth — the violet one. 

These two young gentlemen have nearly completed the 
term of their studies with Mr. Archer. Stimulated by 
Gerard’s appointment, and fired with noble emulation, they 
anticipate the dreaded ordeal of examination next week not 
without misgivings, yet devoutly hope it may be their luck 
to scrape through. 

Miss Welby looks very pretty, not only in the eyes of her 
father behind in the barouche — and persuaded but this 
very morning, with a great deal of coaxing, to join the 
party — but in the opinion of every other gentleman present ; 
nay, even the ladies, though they protest she is not “ their 
style,” cannot but admit that “the girl has some good 
points about her, and would not be amiss if she didn’t look 


118 


THE WHITE BOSE 


so dreadfully pale, and had a little more colouring in her 
dress.” 

Norah does look pale, and quiet as is her costume, it 
shows more colour than her cheek. Truth to tell. Miss 
Wei by is very unhappy. Day after day she has been ex- 
pecting an answer from Gerard to her kind, playful, and 
alfectionate letter, but day after day she has been dis- 
appointed. Her heart sinks when she reflects that he may 
be ill — that something dreadful may have happened to him, 
and she knows nothing about it ; worse still, that he may 
have ceased to care for her, and what is there left then ? 
It galls and shames her to believe that he has used her 
badly; and were he present, she might have courage to 
show she was offended ; but he is far away, and what is the 
use of pride or pique ? What is the use of anything ? It 
seems such a mockery to have the homage of every one 
else and to miss the only eye from which an admiring 
glance would be welcome ; the only voice from which one 
word of approval would thrill direct to her heart. 

She has selected Dolly for her companion in the pony- 
carriage because she cherishes some vague idea that Gerard 
liked him better than the others ; but Dolly is unworthy of 
his good fortune, having eyes at present only for Miss 
Tregimter, whom in her pink dress this young gentleman 
considers perfectly irresistible. 

The rest of the party are paired off rather by chance than 
inclination. Dandy Burton has found himself placed side 
by side with Lady Baker, and feels thankful that their 
short drive will so soon be over, and he can select a more 
congenial companion for the rest of the afternoon. 

Yandeleur, a thorough man of the world, and when once 
started quite in his element on these occasions, believes 
that he has now paid sufficient attention to Miss Tregunter, 
who, being an heiress, is supposed to exact a little more 
homage than worse portioned damsels, and seeks for the 
face that has begun to haunt him strangely of late — in his 
business, in his pleasures, in his solitary walks, even in his 
dreams. That face looks pale, unhappy, and a little bored, 
so the Squire of Oakover resolves to bide his time. He 
has played the game too often not to know its niceties, and 
he is well aware that if a woman feels wearied while in a 


“ THE WHITE WITCH 


119 


man’s society, she unreasonably connects the weariness 
ever afterwards with the companion, rather than the cause. 
In the two or three glances he steals at her, she seems to 
him lovelier, more interesting, more bewitching than ever. 
Happiness is to most faces a wonderful beautifier ; but 
there are people who look their best when they are wretched ; 
and Nor ah Welby is one of them. 

Yandeleur tm*ns away to his other guests with a strange 
gnawing pain at his heart, that he never expected to feel 
again. It reminds him of the old times, twenty years ago ; 
and he laughs bitterly to think that wicked, and worn, and 
weary as he is, there should still be room in his evil breast 
for the sorrow that aches, and rankles, and festers, that 
according to a man’s nature exalts him to the highest 
standard of good, or sinks him to the lowest degradation 
of evil. Twenty years ago, too, he knows he was better 
than he is now. Twenty years ago he might have sacrificed 
his own feelings to the happiness of a woman he loved. 
But life is short; it is too late for such childishness 
now. 

“ Burton, take off those smart gloves, and cut into the 
pie. Miss Tregunter, come a little more this way, and you 
will be out of the sun. Lady Baker, I ordered that shawl 
expressly for you to sit upon. Never mind the salad, 
Welby, they’ll mix it behind the scenes. Champagne — 
yes ! There’s claret-cup and Badminton, if you like it 
better. Mr. Egremont, I hope you are taking care of Miss 
Welby.” 

Dolly, still uneasy about the pink young lady opposite, 
heaps his neighbour’s plate with food, and fills her glass 
with champagne. Miss Welby looks more bored than 
ever, and Vandeleur begins to fear his picnic will turn out 
a failure after all. 

The Dandy, seldom to be counted on in an emergency, 
advances, however, boldly to the rescue. He helps every- 
body round him to meat and drink. He compliments Miss 
Tregunter on her dress ; Miss Welby, who eats nothing, on 
her appetite ; and Lady Baker, who drinks a good deal, on 
her brooch. Then it is discovered that he can spin forks 
on a champagne-cork ; and by degrees people begin to get 
sociable, glasses are emptied, tongues loosened, and the 


120 


THE WHITE ROSE 


deer, feeding half a mile off, raise their heads in astonish- 
ment at the babble of the human voice. 

Presently somebody wants to smoke. It is not exactly 
clear with whom this audacious proposal originates, but 
Dandy Burton declares stoutly in favour of the movement. 
Lady Baker, whom every one seems tacitly to suspect as a 
dissentient, has no objection, provided her glass is once 
more filled with champagne. She even hazards an opinion 
that it will keep off the flies. Miss Tregunter would like 
to smoke, too, only she knows it would make her head ache, 
and fears it might have results even more unpleasant than 
pain. By the time the cigars are well under way, silence 
seems to have settled once more upon the party, but it is 
the silence of repose and contentment, rather than of shy- 
ness and constraint. 

Miss Welby, awaking from a profound fit of abstraction, 
asks in a tone of injured feeling, “ Why does nobody sing 
a song? ” 

“ Why, indeed? ” says Vandeleur. “ If I had ever done 
such a thing in my life, I would now. Miss Tregunter, I 
know you can pipe more sweetly than the nightingale — 
won’t you strike up ? ” 

‘‘No, I won’t strike up, as you call it,” answered Miss 
Tregunter, laughing ; “ my poor little pipe would be lost 
in this wilderness. Nothing but a man’s voice will go 
down in the open air. Mr. Burton, I call upon you to 
begin.” 

But the Dandy could not sing without his music, nor, 
indeed, was he a very efficient performer at any time, 
although he could get through one or two pieces creditably 
enough in a room, with somebody who understood his voice 
to play the accompaniment, and everything else in his 
favour. He excused himself, therefore, looking imploringly 
at Dolly the while. 

Miss Tregunter followed his glance. “ You’ll sing, I’m 
sure, Mr. Egremont,” she said, rather affectionately. “I 
know you can, for everybody says so ; and it seems so odd 
that I should never have heard you ! ” 

Dolly, like all stout men, had a voice. Like all stout 
men, too, he was thoroughly good-natured ; so he would 
probably have complied at any rate, but there was no 


THE WHITE WITCH 


121 


resisting such an appeal, from such a quarter. He looked 
admiringly in the young lady’s face. 

Willingly,” said he. “ What shall I sing ? ” 

“ ‘ Kule Britannia,’ ” observed Norah listlessl}^, and with 
a curl of her lip, sufficiently ungrateful to the willing per- 
former. 

“ No, no,” protested Miss Tregunter. “ How can you, 
dear? ” 

“Well, ‘God Save the Queen,’ then,” suggested Miss 
Welby, who was obviously not in a good humour. 

“ That always comes at the finish,” said Burton. “ Don’t 
be sat upon, Dolly. Put your other pipe out, and sing us 
the ‘ White Witch.’ ” 

“Why the ‘White Witch’?” asked Vandeleur. “It 
sounds a queer name. What does it mean ?” 

“It don’t mean anything,” answered Dolly. “It’s a 
song Gerard brought down from London before he went 
away. He was always humming it — very much out of 
tune. He said it reminded him of somebody he knew. 
Very likely his grandmother! ” 

Norah Welby blushed scarlet, and then turned pale. 
Nobody observed her but Vandeleur ; and his own brow 
darkened a good deal. “ Let us have it by aU means,” he 
said, with admirable self-command, at the same time 
stretching forward to fill his glass, and thus screening Miss 
Welby from observation. 

Dolly now struck up in a full mellow voice — 


“ Have a care ! She is fair, 

The White Witch there, 

In her crystal cave, up a jewelled stair. 

She has spells for the living would waken the dead. 
And they lurk in the line of her lip so red. 

And they lurk in the turn of her delicate head. 

And the golden gleam on her hair. 


“ Forbear I Have a care 
Of her beauty so rare. 

Of the pale proud face, and the queen-like air. 

And the love-lighted glances that deepen and shine. 
And the coil of bright tresses that glisten and twine. 
And the whispers that madden — like kisses, or wine. 
Too late ! Too late to beware. 


122 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“ Never heed ! Never spare ! 

Never fear ! Never care ! 

It is better to love, it is bolder to dare. 

Lonely and longing and looking for you, 

She has woven the meshes you cannot break through, 

She has taken your heart, you may follow it too. 

Up the jewelled stair, good luck to you there ! 

In the crystal cave, with the witch so fair, 

The White Witch fond and fair.” 

“A bad imitation of Tennyson,” remarked Vandeleur. 
“ But well sung, Mr. Egremont, for all that. I am sure 
we are very much obliged to you.” 

“ I know I am,” said Miss Tregunter ; at which Dolly 
looked extremely gratified. “ I am glad I have heard you 
sing, and I should like to hear you again.” 

“It’s certainly pretty ! ” affirmed Lady Baker, drowsily. 
“ What is it all about ? ” 

Norah’s eyes looked very deep and dark, shining out of 
her pale face. “ I should like to have that song,” said she, 
in a low voice. “ Mr. Egremont, will you copy it out, and 
send it me? ” 

Vandeleur fiung the end of his cigar away with a gesture 
of impatience, even of irritation. “ Poor Ainslie ! ” said 
he, in a marked tone; “I wish he hadn’t left Archer’s 
quite so soon.” 

“ Have you heard anything of him ? ” asked Dolly, 
eagerly. “ The place hasn’t been the same since he went 
away. A better chap never stepped than Ainslie. I’m 
sure I wish he was back again.” 

Alas ! that on this young gentleman’s preoccupied heart 
the kindly glance that Norah now vouchsafed him should 
have been so completely thrown away ! 

“I’ve heard no good of him,” answered Vandeleur, 
gravely. “ Young fellows are all wild ; and I’m the last 
man to object, but our friend has been doing the thing a 
little too unscrupulously, and I, for one, am very sorry for 
it.” 

“ He always wanted knowledge of the world,” observed 
Burton, in a tone of considerable self-satisfaction. “ I 
knew he would come to grief, if they let him run alone too 
soon.” 

“I’ll swear he’s never done anything really wrong or dis- 


“ THE WHITE WITCH 


123 


honourable! ” protested Dolly, in a great heat and fuss, 
which surrounded him as with a glory in the eyes of Miss 
Welby. “ I believe Gerard Ainslie to be the most perfect 
gentleman in the world 1 ” 

I believe you to be the most perfectly good-natured 
fellow I know,” answered Vandeleur laughing. “ Come, 
it’s cooler now, shall we take a stroll in the Park? By- 
the-hye. Miss Welby, I haven’t forgotten my promise to 
show you the Kock House.” 

Miss Welby ’s proud pale face grew prouder and paler as 
she bowed assent, and walked off with her host in the 
direction indicated. Vexed, wounded, and justly irritated, 
she could not yet resist the temptation of trying to learn 
something definite concerning Gerard Ainslie. 


CHAPTEK XVI 


PIOUS ^NEAS 

“ I’m bored about a friend of ours, Miss Welby,” observed 
Vandeleur, preceding his guest along a narrow path through 
the fern, out of hearing by the others, and careful not to 
look back in her face. “ This way, and mind those 
brambles don’t catch in your pretty dress. It isn’t often I 
allow anything to vex me, but I am vexed with young 
Ainslie. I thought him such a nice, straightforward, well- 
disposed boy ; and above all, a thorough gentleman. It 
only shows how one can be deceived.” 

She felt her cheek turn white and her heart stand still, 
but her courage rose at the implied imputation, and she 
answered boldly : “ Whatever may be Mr. Ainslie’ s faults, 
he is the last person in the world I should suspect of any- 
thing false or ungentlemanlike.” 

“ Exactly what I have said all along,” assented Vande- 
leur ; “ and even now I can scarcely bring myself to believe 
in the mischief I hear about him, though I grieve to say I 
have my information from the best authority.” 

She stopped short, and he turned to look at her. 
Vandeleur had often admired a certain dignity and even 
haughtiness of bearing which was natural to Norah. He 
had never seen her look so queen-like and defiant as now. 

“ Why don’t you speak out, Mr. Vandeleur ? ” she said, 
somewhat contemptuously; ‘‘I am not ashamed to own 
that I do take an interest in Mr. Ainslie. It would be 
strange if I did not, considering that he is a gTeat friend of 
papa’s, as well as mine. If you know anything about him, 
why don’t you proclaim it at once? ” 

124 


PI0V8 MNEAS- 


125 


He dropped his voice and came closer to her side. “ Shall 
I tell you why I don’t?” said he tenderly. “Because 
I’m soft ; because I’m stupid ; because I’m an old fool. 
Miss Welby, I would rather cut my right hand off than 
give you a moment’s pain ; and I know your heart is so 
kind and good that it would pain you to hear what I have 
learned about Gerard Ainslie.” 

“You have no right to say so!” she burst out, 
vehemently, but checked herself on the instant. “ I mean 
you cannot suppose that it would pain me more than any of 
his other friends to hear that he was doing badly. Of 
course, I should be very sorry,” she added, trying to con- 
trol her voice, which shook provokingly. “ Oh, Mr. 
Vandeleur I after all he’s very young, and he’s got nobody 
to advise him. Can’t you help him ? Can’t you do some- 
thing ? What is the matter ? What has he really been 
about ? ” 

“ I scarcely know how to tell you,” he answered, shaking 
his head with an admirable assumption of consideration and 
forbearance. “There are certain scrapes out of which a 
young fellow may be pulled, however deeply he is immersed, 
if he will only take advice. I’ve been in hundreds of them 
myself. But this is a different business altogether. I’ve 
gone through the whole thing. Miss Welby. Heaven 
forbid you should ever learn one-tenth of the sorrows and 
the troubles and the evils that beset a man’s entrance on 
life. I have bought my experience dearly enough ; — with 
money, with anxiety, with years of penitence and remorse. 
People will tell you that John Vandeleur has done every- 
thing, and been through everything, and got tired of every- 
thing. People will tell you a great deal about John 
Vandeleur that isn’t true. Sometimes I wish it was ! 
Sometimes I wish I could be the hard, heartless, impene- 
trable old reprobate they make me out. However, that’s 
got nothing to do with it. All I can say is, that even with 
my experience of evil I don’t know what to advise.” 

“ Is it money ? ” she asked ; but her very lips were white, 
and her voice sank to a whisper. 

“ Far worse than that I ” he exclaimed. “If it had 
been only an affair of extravagance, it would never have 
come to your ears, you may be sure ! After all, I like the 


126 


THE WHITE ROSE 


lad immensely, and I would have persuaded him to allow 
me to arrange anything of that kind in ten minutes. No, 
Miss Welby, it is not money ; and not being money, can 
you guess what it is ? ” 

Of course she could guess ! Of course she had guessed 
long ago ! Of course the jealousy inseparable from love 
had given her many a painful twinge during the last half 
hour ; and equally, of course, she affected innocence, 
ignorance, profound indifference, and answered never a 
word. 

He looked designedly away, and she was grateful for his 
forbearance. Not being money,” he continued, ‘‘we all 
know it must be love. And yet I cannot call this un- 
accountable, this incomprehensible infatuation, by so 
exalted a name. I tell you the whole thing beats me from 
beginning to end. Here was a young man with every 
advantage of education and standing and society, thrown 
amongst the nicest people in the neighbourhood, visiting at 
several of our houses, and popular with us all; — a young 
man who, if he was like young men in general, ought to 
have been doubly and triply guarded against anything in 
the shape of folly or vice ; who should have been under an 
influence the most likely to keep him pure, stainless, and 
unselfish ; an influence that preserves almost all others, 
even old sinners like myself, from the very inclination to 
evil. And on the threshold of life he casts away every 
advantage ; he sets propriety at defiance ; he outrages the 
common decencies of the world, and he hampers himself 

with Miss Welby, I ought not to go on — I ought never 

to have begun. This is a subject on which it is hardly fit 
for you and me to converse. See how well the house 
comes in from here ; and give me your advice about taking 
out that dwarfed oak; it hides more than half the con- 
servatory.” 

She could see neither dwarfed oak nor conservatory, for 
her eyes were beginning to cloud with tears, bravely and 
fiercely kept back. But she had not reached the ordeal 
thus designedly to shrink from it at last ; and though she 
spoke very fast, every syllable was clear and distinct while 
she urged him to proceed. 

“Tell me the whole truth, Mr. Vandeleur, and nothing 


PIOUS ^NEAS 


127 


bat the truth. I have a right to ask you. I have a right 
to know everything.” 

So pale, so resolute, and so delicately beautiful ! For a 
moment his heart smote him hard. For a moment he 
could have spared her, and loved her well enough to make 
her happy, but even in his admiration his lower nature, 
never kept down for years, gained the mastery, and he 
resolved that for her very perfection she must be his own. 
Again he turned his head away and walked on in front. 

“I will tell you the truth,” he said, with a world of 
sympathy and kindness- in his voice. Ainslie has been 
worse than foolish. He has been utterly dishonourable and 
unprincipled. He has taken a young girl of this neighbour- 
hood away from her home. They are together at this 
moment. You know her. Miss Welby. She is old 
Draper’s daughter, at Ripley Mill. Come into the Rock 
House, and sit down. Is it not delightfully cool? Wait 
here half a minute, and I will bring you the purest water 
you ever tasted, from the spring at the foot of those 
steps.” 

He was out of sight almost while he spoke, and she 
leaned her head against the cold slab which formed part of 
the grotto they had entered, feeling grateful for the physical 
comfort it afforded to sink into a seat and rest her aching 
temples even on a stone. 

It was over then — all over now ! Just as she suspected 
throughout, and she had been right after all. Then came 
the dull sense of relief that in its hopelessness is so much 
worse to bear than pain ; and she could tell herself that she 
had become resigned, careless, stupefied, and hard as the 
rock against which she leaned her head. When Vandeleur 
came back, she looked perfectly tranquil and composed. 
Impenetrable, perhaps, and haughtier than he had ever 
seen her, but for all that so calm and self-possessed that 
she deceived even him. “ She cannot have cared so much, 
after all,” thought Vandeleur ; “ and there is a good chance 
for me still.” 

He offered her some water, and she noticed the quaint 
fashion of the silver cup in his hand. 

“ What a dear old goblet,” she said, spelling out the 
device that girdled it in ancient characters, almost illegible. 


128 


TEE WHITE BOSE 


“Do you mean to say that you leave it littering about 
here ? ” 

He smiled meaningly. “ I sent it up on purpose for you 
to drink from. There is a story about the goblet, and a 
story about the Kock House. Can you make out the 
motto ? ” 

“ Well, it’s not very plain,” she answered ; “ but give me 
a little time. Yes. I have it — 

Spare youth, 

Have ruth, 

Tell truth. 

It sounds like nonsense. What does it mean ? ” 

“It’s a love story,” replied Vandeleur, sitting down by 
her side, “ and it’s about my grandmother. Shall I tell it 
you?” 

She laughed bitterly. “ A love story ! That must be 
ludicrous. And about your grandmamma, Mr. Vandeleur ! 
I suppose, then, it’s perfectly proper. Yes. You may go 
on.” 

“ She wasn’t my grandmother then,” said Vandeleur ; 
“ on the contrary, she had not long been my grandfather’s 
wife. She was a good deal younger than her husband. 
Miss Welby, do you think a girl could care for a man 
twenty years older than herself? ” 

She was thinking of her false love. “ Why not,” she 
asked, “ if he was staunch and true ? ” 

Vandeleur looked pleased, and went on with his story : 

“ My grandfather loved his young bride very dearly. It 
does not follow because there are lines on the forehead and 
silver streaks in the beard that the heart should have out- 
lived its sympathies, its affections, its capability of self- 
sacrifice and self-devotion. It sounds ridiculous, I dare 
say, for people to talk about love when they are past forty, 
but you young ladies little know. Miss Welby ; you little 
know. However, my grandfather, as old a man as I am 
now, worshipped the very ground his young wife trod on, 
and loved her no less passionately, and perhaps more faith- 
fully, than if he had been five-and-twenty. She was proud 
of his devotion, and she admired his character, or she would 
not probably have married him ; but her heart had been 


PIOVS ^NEAS 


129 


touched by a young cousin in the neighbourhood, — only 
scratched, I think, not wounded to hurt, you know, — and 
whatever she indulged in of romance and sentiment, was 
associated with this boy’s curly locks, smooth face, and 
frivolous, empty character. There is a charm in youth. 
Miss Welby, I fear, for which truth, honour, station, and 
the purest affection, are no equivalents.” 

She sighed, and shook her head. Vandeleur pro- 
ceeded : — 

“My grandfather felt he was not appreciated as he 
deserved, and it cut him to the heart. But he neither 
endeavoured to force his wife’s inclinations nor watched 
her actions. One day, however, taking shelter from a 
shower under that yew-tree, he heard his wife and her 
cousin, who had been driven to the same refuge, conversing 
on the other side. He was obliged to listen, though every 
word spoken stabbed him like a knife. It was evident a 
strong flirtation existed between them. Nothing worse I 
am bound to believe ; for in whose propriety shall a man 
have confldence, if not in his grandmother’s ? Neverthe- 
less, the hidden husband heard his wife tax her cousin with 
deceiving her, and the young man excused himself on the 
grounds of his false position as a lover without hope. This 
was so far satisfactory. ‘ And if your husband asked you 
whether you had seen me to-day, what should you answer?’ 
demanded the cousin. ‘ I should tell him the truth,’ 
replied my grandmother. This was better still. The next 
communication was not quite so pleasant for the listener. 
His wife complained bitterly of the want of shelter in this, 
the only spot, she said, where they could meet without 
interruption ; in rain, she protested, they must get drenched 
to the skin, and in hot weather there was not even a cup to 
drink out of from the spring. The cousin, on the other 
hand, regretted loudly that his debts would drive him from 
the countiy, that he must start in less than a week, and 
that if he had but two hundred pounds he would he the 
happiest man in the world. Altogether it was obvious that 
the spirits of this interesting couple fell rapidly with their 
prospects. 

“ The rain fell too, but my grandfather was one of the 
flrst gentlemen of his day, and notwithstanding the ducking 

9 


130 


THE WHITE BOSE 


he got, walked away through the heaviest of it, rather than 
remain for their leave-taking. We are a wild race, we 
Vandeleurs, but there is some little good in us if you can 
only get at it.” 

“ I’m sure there is,” said she, absently ; “ and, at least, 
you have none of you ever failed in loyalty.” 

Thank you. Miss Welby,” said Vandeleur, now radiant. 
“ ‘ Loyal je serais durant ma vie ! ’ Well, if you can stand 
any more about my grandmother, I will tell you exactly 
what happened. It rained for three days without inter- 
mission — it sometimes does in this country. During that 
period an unknown hand paid the cousin’s debts, enabling 
him to remain at home as long as he thought proper ; and 
on the fourth morning, when the sun shone, my grand- 
mother, taking her usual walk to the spring, found not only 
her cousin at the accustomed spot, but this Eock House 
erected to shelter her, and that silver cup ready to drink 
from, encircled, as you see it, with the motto you have just 
read. All these little matters were delicate attentions from 
a husband twenty years older than herself! ” 

“He must have been a dear old thing!” exclaimed 
Norah, vehemently. “Wasn’t she delighted? And didn’t 
she grow awfully fond of him after all ? ” 

“I don’t know,” answered Vandeleur, very gravely, and 
in a low voice that trembled a little. “ But I am sure if 
she did not, he was a miserable man for his whole life. It 
is hard to give gold for silver, as many of us do ungrudg- 
ingly and by handfuls ; but it is harder still to offer hopes, 
happiness — past, present, future — your existence, your very 
soul, and find it all in vain, because the only woman on 
earth for you has wasted her priceless heart on an object 
she knows to be unworthy. She gives her gold for silver — 
nay, for copper ; and your diamonds she scorns as dross. 
Never mind ! Fling them down before her just the same ! 
Better that they should he trodden under foot by her, than 
set in a coronet for the brows of another ! Miss Welby — 
Norah ! that is what I call love f An old man’s love, and 
therefore to he ridiculed and despised ! ” 

She had shrunk away now, startled, scared by his 
vehemence; hut he took her hand, and continued very 
gently, while he drew her imperceptibly towards him — 


PIOUS MNEAS 


131 


Forgive me, Miss Welby — Norali ! May I not call you 
Norah ? I have been hurried into a confession that I had 
resolved not to make for months — nay, for years — perhaps 
not till too late even for the chance of reaping anything 
from my temerity. But it cannot be unsaid now. Listen. 
I have loved you very dearly for long; so dearly that I 
could have yielded up my hopes without a murmur, had I 
known your affections gained by one really woi-thy of you, 
and could have been content with my own loneliness to see 
my idol happy. Yes, I love you madly. Do not draw away 
from me. I will never persecute you. I do not care what 
becomes of me if I can only be sure that you are contented. 
Miss Welby ! I offer ally and I ask for so little in return ! 
Only let me watch over your welfare, only let me contribute 
to your happiness ; and if you can permit me to hope, say 
so ; if not, what does it matter ? I shall always love you, 
and belong to you — like some savage old dog, who only 
acknowledges one owner — and you may kick me, or caress 
me, as you please.” 

She was flattered — how could she be otherwise ? And it 
was a salve to her sore suffering heart to have won so 
entirely the love of such a man — of this distinguished, 
well-known, experienced Mr. Vandeleur. As a triumph to 
her pride, no doubt such a conquest was worth a whole 
college of juveniles ; and yet, soothed pique, gratified vanity, 
budding ambition — all these are not love, nor are they 
equivalents for love. 

She knew it even at this moment; but it would have 
been heartless, she thought — ungrateful, unfeeling — to 
speak harshly of him now. She drew her hand away ; but 
she answered in a low and rather tender voice, with a smile 
that did not in the least conceal her agitation — 

“ You are very noble and very generous. I could not 
have the heart to kick you, I am sure ! ” 

“ And I may hope ? ” he exclaimed, exultingly. But her 
face was now hidden, and she was crying in silence. 

He was eager for an answer. He had played the game 
so well, he might consider it fairly won. 

“ One word. Miss Welby — Norah, my darling Norah ! I 
will wait any time — I will endure any trial — only tell me 
that it will come at last ! ’ ’ 


132 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“ Not yet,” she whispered — “ not yet ! ” 

And with this answer he was fain to content himself, for 
no further syllable did Miss Welby utter the whole way 
down the hill, the whole way across the deer-park, the 
whole way along the half-mile avenue to the house. They 
reached it like strangers, they entered it at different doors, 
they mixed with the various guests as if they had not a 
thought nor an interest in common ; yet none the less did 
Norah Welby feel that, somehow against her will, she was 
fastened by a long and heavy chain, and that the other end 
was held by John Vandeleur, Esq., of Oakover. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE GIRLS WE LEAVE BEHIND US 

Mr. Brufp never sees his fellow-lodger now. If his 
enthusiasm for the profession impels him to impromptu 
rehearsals, they must be dependent on the good-nature of 
old mother Briggs, or the leisure moments, not easily 
arrested, of the hard-worked H’Anne ! He is little im- 
pressed by female charms ; for although, like actors in 
general, he looks of no particular age, and might he any- 
thing between thirty and sixty, Mr. Bruff has acquired 
that toughness of cuticle, both without and within, which 
defends the most sensitive of us after our fiftieth birthday ; 
and impassioned as he may appear in the character of a 
stage lover, to use his own expression, he is, “ adamant, 
sir, adamant to the backbone ! ” in private life. Neverthe- 
less, he considers the young lady he has been in the habit 
of meeting on the stairs “ a very interesting party ; ” and 
presiding as he does to-night at a late supper, dramatic and 
convivial — the forerunner of speedy departure to another 
provincial theatre — he finds himself thinking more than 
once of Fanny Draper’s well-shaped figure, mobile features, 
bright eyes, and pleasant saucy smile. He wonders who 
she is, and what she is. He wonders, with her natural 
powers of mimicry, with her flexibility of voice and facility 
of expression, with her advantages of appearance and 
manner, why she does not take to the profession, and 
appear at once upon the stage. He wonders (in the interval 
between a facetious toast and a comic song) whether her 
residence in this dull provincial town is not intimately 
connected with the presence of that young officer in whose 


134 


THE WHITE ROSE 


accident she took such obvious interest ; whether it is a 
case of thrilling romance, fit subject for a stock-piece, or of 
mere vulgar intrigue. He wonders why she has been 
absent from the theatre; why she has returned him the 
orders he sent her this very afternoon ; why he has not met 
her in the street or on the stairs ; and while he empties his 
glass and clears his voice for the comic song, he wonders 
what she is doing now. 

Fanny Draper is dreaming — dreaming broad awake — 
buried in a deep, high-hacked, white covered armchair, 
with her eyes fixed on the glowing coals of a fire that she 
makes up from time to time with noiseless dexterity, 
stealing anxious glances the while towards the close-drawn 
curtains of a large old-fashioned bed. It is long past mid- 
night. Not a sound is heard outside in the deserted street, 
not a sound in the sick chamber, hut the measured ticking 
of a watch on the chimney-piece. Throughout the room 
there is every appearance of dangerous illness combated with 
all the appliances of medical skill and affectionate attention. 
There are towels baking on a screen within reach of the 
fire-glow ; layers of lint lie neatly packed and folded on 
squares of oil-skin ; long bandages, dexterously rolled and 
tied, wait only to he uncoiled with a touch ; two or three 
phials, marked in graduated scale, stand on the dressing- 
table ; a kettlefull of water is ready to be placed on the 
hob ; and in a far-off corner, escaping from the lowest 
drawer of the wardrobe, peeps out a tell-tale cloth stained 
and saturated with blood. 

In that close-curtained bed lies Gerard Ainslie hovering 
between life and death. He has never spoken since they 
lifted him from under his horse on the racecourse, and 
brought him home to his lodgings, a crushed, mutilated 
form, scarcely breathing, and devoid of sight or sense. 
Mrs. Briggs opines it is “ all over with him, poor young 
man ! though while there’s life there’s hope o’ coorse ! ” 
and H’Anne has been in a chronic state of smuts and 
tears since the day of the accident. But Fanny constituted 
herself sick-nurse at once, and the doctor has told her that 
if the patient recovers it will be less owing to surgical skill 
than to her affectionate care and self-devotion. He had 
better have held his tongue. Poor girl ! she never broke 


THE GIRLS WE LEAVE BEHIND US 


135 


down till then, but she went and cried in her own room for 
forty minutes after this outburst of professional approval. 

If he recovers ! Fanny has only lately learnt how much 
that little word means to her — how entirely her own welfare 
depends on the life of this hapless young gentleman, whom 
she once considered fair game for the enterprise of a 
coquette, whom she has been paid (how she winces with 
shame and pain at the remembrance !) — yes, paid to capti- 
vate and allure ! It was a dangerous game ; it was played 
with edged tools ; and not till too late for salve or plaster did 
the miller’s daughter find out that she had cut her own 
fingers to the bone. Now all she prizes and loves in the 
world lies senseless there within those close-drawn curtains ; 
and her mlful heart has ceased beating more than once 
when, listening for the only sign of life the sufferer dis- 
played, she fancied his breathing had stopped, and all was 
over. 

To-day, however, there seemed to be a slight improve- 
ment, though imperceptible, save to the eye of science. 
The doctor’s face (and be sure it was eagerly watched) 
had looked a shade less solemn, a thought more anxious. 
He was coming earlier, too, than usual on the morrow. 
And had he not said once before that any change would be 
for the better? Surely it is a good omen. For the first 
time since she has taken possession of that deep armchair 
by the fire in the sick chamber, Fanny suffers her thoughts 
to wander, and her spirit to lose itself in dreams. 

She reviews her life since she has been here — the new 
existence, brightened by the new feeling which has taken 
possession of her, body and soul. Thanks to Mr. Bruff’s 
kindness she has been often to the theatre ; and according 
to her natural tendencies, has derived considerable gratifica- 
tion from her visits. In the two or three pieces she has 
witnessed she can remember every character, almost every 
line of every part. It seems so foolish, and yet so natural, 
to identify the hero with Gerard, the heroine with herself. 
When Mr. Bruff, as Kinaldo, in a black wig, a black belt, a 
pair of black boots, black moustaches, and enormous black 
eyebrows, declared his love to Helena, no people could be 
more different than that hoarse tragedian and slim, soft- 
spoken Gerard Ainslie. Yet it seems to her now that she 


136 


THE WHITE BOSE 


was Helena, and Einaldo was the young officer. When 
Bernard, in the Brigand's Bride, stuck a lighted candle 
into a barrel of gunpowder (ingeniously represented by a 
bushel of dirty flour), and dared his ruffian band, who 
“quailed,” to use his own words, “before their captain’s 
eye,” to remain in circle round these combustibles, and 
thus vindicate the claims of the boldest to the best of the 
spoil — in this case consisting of the golden-haired Volante, 
a princess in her own right, incurably in love with Bernard, 
of whom she was supposed to know nothing but that he had 
set her father’s castle on fire, and carried her off by main 
force as his captive ; — why, I ask, should Fanny Draper 
have longed to he placed in so false, not to say so perilous 
a position, if only to be delivered in the same uncomfort- 
able manner by her own ideal of a lawless brigand, carried 
out in the character of an ensign belonging to a marching 
regiment, lately joined, and not yet perfect in his drill? 
Why, indeed ! except that Fanny had fallen in love, and 
was mistress neither of her thoughts, her feelings, nor 
her actions. 

Had it been otherwise, she feels she might have done 
good business since she came to this obscure countiy town. 
She might have bettered her position, and, for a person of 
her station, made no small progress up the social ladder, in 
all honom* and honesty. Not only on the stage has she 
lately witnessed scenes of love-making and com’tship. 

Fixing her eyes on the gloomy coals, she beholds again 
a drama in which but very lately she enacted a real and an 
important part. She is walking down the High Street 
once more, in a grey silk dress, with a quiet bonnet, and 
lavender gloves, and a get-up that she is w^ell aware 
combines the good taste of the lady with the attractions 
of the coquette. She is overtaken by Captain Hughes, 
who professes a surprise thus to meet her; the more 
remarkable that at the close of their last interview some- 
thing very like a tacit agi*eement provided for their next to 
be held in this very spot. He asks leave, demurely enough, 
to accompany her part of the way during her walk ; and 
when she accords permission, she is somewhat startled to 
find the captain’s usual flow of conversation has completely 
failed him, and he seems to have discovered something of 


THE GIRLS WE LEAVE BEHIND US 


137 


engi'ossing interest in the knot that fastens his sash. As 
the experienced fisherman feels instinctively the rise before 
he strikes, Fanny is as sure she has hooked her captain as 
if he was gasping at her feet ; and is not the least surprised 
when he does speak, that his voice comes thick and hoarse 
like that of a man in liquor, or in love. 

He tells her the day is fine, the weather is altered for 
the better; that there is no parade at the barracks to- 
morrow ; that the depot is about to change its quarters : 
that, for himself, he expects his orders to join the service- 
companies forthwith ; and then — he stops, clears his throat, 
and looks like an idiot ! 

‘‘It’s coming,” thinks Miss Draper; hut she won’t help 
him, and he has recourse to his sash once more. 

At last he gives a great gulp, and asks her to accompany 
him. 

“ He has watched her ever since she came. He has 
admired her from the first. He never saw such a girl 
before. She is exactly the sort he likes. He wishes he 
was good enough for her. Many women have thought him 
good enough for anything; many, he is afraid, good for 
nothing ! What does she think ? He cannot live without 
her. It would break his heart never to see her again. He 
is going away. Will she accompany him? ” 

And Fanny, who through all the struggles and agitation 
of the fish preserves the sang-froid of the fisherman, 
answers demurely that she knows what gentlemen are, 
and that no power on earth should induce her to accompany 
any man one step on his journey through life, whatever his 
attractions might he or her own feelings (for women were 
very weak, you know), except as his wife.” 

“As my wife of course! ” gasped the captain, prepared 
to pay the highest price for indulgence of his whim, and 
meaning, at the moment, honestly enough, what he pro- 
poses. 

Miss Draper having now got what she wants — a real 
offer from a real gentleman — considers she has attained a 
sufficient social triumph, and prepares to back out of the 
position with as little offence as possible to the self-love of 
her admirer. 

“ It might have been once,” she says, shaking her head. 


138 


THE WHITE ROSE 


and shooting a look at him from under her eyelashes, of 
which she has often calculated the exact power at the same 
range — “it can never be now ; at least, it would have to be 
a long while first. I won’t talk about my own feelings ” 
(Miss Draper always lets her lovers down very easy), “ and 
I’m sure I’ll try to spare yours. Good-bye, captain ! I 
shall often think of you ; and you and I will always be the 
best of friend’s, won’t we? ” 

“ Always ! ” exclaims the captain ; and seizing her hand, 
presses it to his lips. 

* ^ * 

At this stage of her reflections the waning fire, on which 
she gazes, falls in with a crash ; but it fails to disturb the 
invalid ; neither is it that sudden noise which causes Miss 
Draper to start as if she was stung, and turn to the bed 
with her eyes full of tears, murmuring — 

“I couldn’t, I couldn’t, my darling! and you lying there! 
Oh, spare him I spare him I If he would only get well — if 
he would only get well ! ” 

Then she makes up the fire cautiously, so as not to wake 
him, wondering with a shiver if he will ever wake again, 
and goes down on her knees by the armchair, burying her 
face in her hands. 

Not for long, though. Already the grey dawn is stealing 
through the half-closed shutters ; already the day has come 
which the doctor more than hinted would decide his fate. 
Hark ! what is that ? A strain of music, borne on the 
chill morning breeze even to the watcher’s ears. She 
ihowns impatiently, and moving swiftly to the window, 
closes the shutters with a careful hand. 

“ Beasts ! they might wake him ! ” she mutters below her 
breath. 

Alas ! poor Captain Hughes ! Not a twinge of regret 
does she acknowledge for your departure ; not a thought 
does she waste on yourself and your brother officers. Not 
a moment does she linger to listen to its band, though the 
depot of the 250th Kegiment is marching off for good-and- 
all to the tune of “ The Girls we leave behind us 1 ” 


CHAPTER XVIII 

FOR BETTER 

“ Happy,” says the proverb, “ is the wedding that the sun 
shines on.” This is probably as true as most other 
proverbs. No doubt the sun shone bright over the park 
and. grounds at Oakover on the morning which was to see 
John Vandeleur for the second time a bridegroom. Eveiy- 
thing, including the old housekeeper fifty years in the 
family, smiled auspiciously on the event. The lawns 
had been fresh mown, the gravel rolled smooth, the very 
flowers in the garden seemed to have summoned the 
brightest autumn tints they could afford, to do honour to 
the occasion. The servants of course were in new and 
gorgeous attire, the men rejoicing in a period of irregular 
work and unlimited beer, the women jubilant in that savage 
glee with which our natural enemies celebrate every fresh 
victory gained over constituted authority. Their very 
ribbons, dazzling and bran new, quivered with a triumph 
almost hysterical in its rapture ; and from the housekeeper 
before mentioned, sixty years of age and weighing sixteen 
stone, to the under-scullery-maid, not yet confirmed, one 
might have supposed them about to he married to the men 
of their choice on the spot, one and all. 

Stock jokes, good wishes, hopeful forebodings, were rife 
in the household; and John Vandeleur, shaving in his 
dressing-room, looked from his own worn face in the glass, 
to the keen edge of his razor, with a gi’im, unearthly 
smile. 

“ Would it not be better,” he muttered — ‘‘ better both 

139 


140 


THE WHITE BOSE 


for her and for me ? What right have I to expect that 
this venture should succeed when all the others failed ? 
And yet — I don’t think I ever cared for any of them as I 
do for this girl — except perhaps Margaret — poor, gentle, 
loving Margaret ! and I had to lay her in her grave ! No, 

I could not stand such another ‘ facer ’ as that. If I thought 
I must go through such a day’s work again, I’d get out of 
it all — now, this moment, with a turn of the wrist and a 
minute’s choke like a fellow gargling for a sore throat ! 
How surprised they’d all he ! That ass of a valet of mine, 
I’ll lay two to one he’d strop my razor before he gave 
the alarm. And those pretty bridesmaids, with their 
turquoise lockets ! And old Welby — gentlemanlike old 
fellow, Welby ! It wouldn’t astonish him so much : he 
was one of us once. And poor Norah ! She’d get over it 
though, and marry Gerard Ainslie after all. Not if I know 
it ! No, no, my boy ! I’m not going to throw the game 
into your hands like that ! If I was but fifteen years 
younger, or even ten, I’d hold my own with any of you ! 
Ah, there was a time when John Vandeleur could run most 
of you at even weights for the Ladies’ Plate ; and now, I 
don’t believe she half cares for me ! While I — blast me 
for an old fool ! — I love the very gloves she wears ! 
There’s one of them in that drawer now ! She might do 
what she liked with me. I could be a better man with 
her — I know I’ve got it in me. How happy we might be 
together ! Haven’t I everything in the world women like 
to possess ? And what sort of a use have I made of my 
advantages ? I’ve had a deal of fun, to be sure ; but hang 
me if I’d do the same again ! I should like to turn over a 
new leaf on my wedding-morning. Some fellows would go 
down on their knees and pray. I wish I could ! ” 

Why didn’t he ? why couldn’t he ? It would have been 
his only chance, and he let it slip. He finished dressing 
instead, and went down-stairs to inspect the preparations 
for his bride’s welcome when she came home. Except 
when he swore at the groom of the chambers about some 
fiower-vases, the servants thought he was in high good 
humour ; and the upper-housemaid — a tall person of 
experience, who had refused several offers — considered 
him not a day too old for a bridegroom. 


FOB BETTER 


141 


The wedding was to take place at Marston, and the 
breakfast to be given in the Kectory by the bride’s father, 
who was to officiate at the altar, and offer up his daughter 
like a second Agtoemnon : the simile was his own. After- 
wards the happy couple were to proceed at once to Oakover, 
there to spend their honeymoon and remain during the 
winter. This last was an arrangement of Vandeleur’s, 
who, having been married before, was alive to the dis- 
comfort of a continental trip for two people whose acquaint- 
ance is, after all, none of the most intimate, and to him 
the privacy and comfort of a home seem almost indis- 
pensable. He had earned his experience, and determined 
to profit by it. This, you will observe, young ladies, is one 
of the advantages of marrying a widower. 

It is needless to relate that at the wedding-breakfast were 
congregated the smartest and best-dressed people of the 
neighbourhood. Even those who had hitherto disapproved 
of his goings-on, and kept aloof fi*om his society, were too 
glad to welcome a man of Mr. Vandeleur’s acres and position 
back into the fold of respectability. There is joy even on 
earth over a repentant sinner, provided that he leaves off 
bachelor-ways, opens his house, gives solemn dinners, and 
breaks out with an occasional ball ! 

Lady Baker was triumphant. “ She had always said 
there was a deal of good in Vandeleur, that only wanted 
bringing out. Wild oats, my dear ! Well, young men will 
sow them plentifully, you know ; and neither Newmarket 
nor Paris are what you can call good schools. .Poor Sir 
Philip always said so, and he was a thorough man of the 
world — a thorough man of the world, my dear ; and liked 
Mr. Vandeleur, what he knew of him, very much. To be 
sure they never met but twice. Ah ! there was twenty 
years’ difference between him and me, and I dare say 
there’s more between this couple. Well, I always think a 
wife should be younger than her husband. And she’s 
sweetly pretty, isn’t she, Jane ? Though I can’t say I like 
the shape of her wreath, and I never saw anybody look so 
deadly pale in my life.” 

Thus Lady Baker to her next neighbour at the wedding- 
breakfast, Miss Tregunter, looking very fresh and whole- 
some in white and blue, with the sweetest turquoise-locket 


142 


THE WHITE BOSE 


(Mr. Vandeleur had eight of them made for the eight 
bridesmaids) that ever rose and fell on the soft bosom 
of one of those pretty officials unattached. Miss Tregunter, 
knowing she is in her best looks, has hut one regret, that 
she is not dressed in pink, for she sits next to Dolly Egre- 
mont. 

This young gentleman is in the highest possible state of 
health and spirits. He has been up for his examination, 
and failed to pass ; which, however, does not in the least 
affect his peace of mind, as he entertains no intention of 
trying again. He and Burton, who has been more fortunate, 
and is about to be gazetted to a commission in the House- 
hold Troops at once, have come to pay their old tutor a visit 
expressly for the wedding. They consider themselves 
gentlemen-at-large now, and finished men of the world. 
Carrying out this idea, they assume an air of proprietorship 
in their relation with the young ladies of the party, which, 
though inexpressibly offensive to its male portion, is 
tolerated with considerable forbearance, and even approval, 
by the fairer guests, especially the bridesmaids. That 
distinguished body has behaved with the greatest steadiness 
at church, earning unqualified approval from the most 
competent judges, such as clerk and sexton, by its fixed 
attention to the Marriage Service, no less than from 
the fascinating uniformity of its appearance and the 
perfection of its drill. It is now, to a certain extent, 
broken up and scattered about ; for its duties as a 
disciplined force are nearly over, and each of its rank- 
and-file relapses naturally into her normal state of 
private warfare and individual aggression on the common 
enemy. 

Miss Tregunter, placed between Dolly Egremont and 
Dandy Burton, with white soup in her plate and champagne 
in her glass, is a fair specimen of the rest. 

“ Isn’t she lovely ? ” whispers this young lady, as in duty 
bound, glancing at the bride, and arranging her napkin care- 
fully over her blue and white draperies. 

Dolly steals a look at Norah, sitting pale and stately at 
the cross-table between her father and her husband. He 
cannot help thinking of Gerard’s favourite song, and that 
reminds him of Gerard. A twinge takes his honest heart. 


FOB BET TEE 


143 


while he reflects that he would not like to see Miss 
Tregunter in a wreath of orange-blossoms sitting by any- 
body hut himself ; and that perhaps poor Ainslie would 
be very unhappy if he were here. But this is no time for 
sadness. Glasses are jingling, plates clattering, servants 
hurrying about, and tongues wagging with that enforced 
merriment which is so obvious at all entertainments of a 
like nature. We gild our wedding-feasts with splendour, 
we smother them in flowers, and swamp them in wine ; yet, 
somehow, though the Death’s head is necessarily a guest 
at all our banquets, we are never so conscious of his 
presence as on these special occasions of festivity and 
rejoicing. 

‘‘Wants a little more colour to be perfection,” answers 
cunning Dolly, with a glance into his companion’s rosy face. 
“I don’t admire your sickly beauties — ‘ Quenched in the 
chaste beams of the watery moon ; Whitewash I never con- 
descend to spoon.’ Ain’t I romantic. Miss Tregunter, and 
poetical? ” 

“Ain’t you a goose!” answers the bridesmaid, laugh- 
ing. “And I don’t believe you know what you do 
admire I ” 

“ I admii’e blue and white, with a turquoise-locket,” inter- 
poses Dandy Burton from the other side. He too entertains 
a vague and undefined penchant for Miss Tregunter, who is 
an heii-ess. 

“ Well, you’re in luck I ” answers the young lady, “ for 
you’ve eight of us to stare at. Hush ! Mr. Welby’s going 
to speak. I hope he won’t break down.” 

Then there is a great deal of knocking of knife-handles on 
the table, and murmurs of “Hear, hear while all the 
faces turn with one movement, as if pulled by a string, 
towards Mr. Welby, who is standing up, almost as pale as 
his daughter, and whose thin hands tremble so that he can 
scarcely steady them against the fork with which he is 
scoring marks on the white cloth. 

He calls on his guests to fill their glasses. The gentle- 
men help the ladies with a good deal of simpering on both 
sides. A coachman acting footman breaks a trifie-dish, 
and stands aghast at his own awkwardness. But not- 
withstanding this diversion, everybody’s attention is 


144 


THE WHITE BOSE 


again fastened on poor Mr. Welby, who shakes more and 
more. 

“ I have a toast to propose,” he says ; and everybody 
repeats, “Hear! hear!” “A toast you will all drink 
heartily, I am sure. There are some subjects on which the 
dullest man cannot help being eloquent. Some on which 
the most eloquent must break down. I ought not to be 
afraid of my own voice. I have heard it once a week for a 
good many years ; but now I cannot say half I mean, and I 
feel you will expect no long sermon from me to-day. I 
have just confided to my oldest friend the earthly happiness 
of my only child. You all know him, and I need not 
enlarge upon his popularity, his talents, his social successes, 
and his worth. Why sho^d I tell you my opinion of him ? 
Have I not an hour ago, in the discharge of my sacred 
office as a priest, and with such blessings as only a 
father’s heart can call down, given him the very apple of 
mine eye, the light of my lonely home. May she be as 
precious to him as she has been to me ! ” Here Mr. 
Welby’s own voice became very hoarse; and noses were 
blown at intervals, down each side of the table. “ Of her? 
What shall I say of her?” His accents were low and 
broken now, while he only got each sentence out with 
difficulty, bit by bit. “ Why, — that if she proves 
but half as good a wife to him — as she has been — a 
daughter to me — he may thank God every night and 
morning from a full heart, for the happiness of his lot. 
I call upon you to drink the healths of Mr. and Mrs. 
Vandeleur.” 

How all the guests nodded and drank and cheered till 
the very blossoms shook on the wedding-cake, and their 
voices failed ! Only Dolly forgot to nod and drink or 
cheer, so eagerly was his attention fixed upon the bride. 

Brave Norah never looked at her father, never looked at 
her husband, never looked up from her plate, nor moved a 
muscle of her countenance, but sat still and solemn and 
grave, like a beautiful statue. Only when the speaker’s 
feelings got the better of him large tears welled up slowly, 
slowly, into her eyes, and dropped one by one on the 
bouquet that lay in her lap. Dolly could have cried 
too, for that silent, sad, unearthly quietude seemed to him 


FOR BETTER 


146 


more piteous, more touching, than any amount of flurry 
and tears and hysterical laughter and natoal agitation. 

In talking it over afterwards, people only protested how 
beautifully Mr. Vandeleur had behaved! ” And no doubt 
that accomplished gentleman said and did exactly the right 
thing at the moment and under the circumstances. A 
felon in the dock is hardly in a more false position than a 
bridegroom at his own wedding-breakfast. He feels, indeed, 
very much as if he had stolen something, and everybody 
knew he was the thief. I appeal to all those who have 
experienced the trial, whether it does not demand an 
extreme of tact and courage to avoid masking the pros- 
tration and despondency under which a man cannot 
but labour in such a predicament, by an ill-timed flippancy 
which everybody in the room feels to be impertinence of 
the worst possible taste. 

Mr. Vandeleur, though he never liked to look a single 
individual in the face, had no shyness on an occasion like 
the present. He was well dressed, well got-up, in good 
spirits, and felt that he had gained at least ten years on 
old Time to-day. He glanced proudly down on his bride, 
kindly and respectfully at her father, pleasantly round on 
the assembled guests; touched frankly and cordially on 
the good-will these displayed ; alluded feelingly to Mr. 
Welby’s affection for his daughter ; neither said too much 
nor too little about his own sentiments ; humbly hoped 
he might prove worthy of the blessing he should strive 
hard to deserve ; and ended by calling on Dandy Burton, 
as the youngest man present — or, at all events, the one with 
the smartest neckcloth — to propose the health of the brides- 
maids. 

It was a good speech, — everybody said so ; good feeling, 
good taste, neither too grave nor too gay. Everybody except 
Burton, who found himself in an unexpected fix, from which 
there could he no escape. The Dandy was not shy, hut for 
the space of at least five minutes he wished himself a 
hundred miles off. Neither did Miss Tregunter help him 
in the least. On the contrary, she looked up at him when 
he rose, with a comic amazement and unfeeling derision in 
her rosy face, which it was well calculated to express, but 
which confused him worse and worse. 

10 


146 


THE WHITE BOSE 


So he fingered his glass, and shifted from one leg to the 
other, and hemmed and hawed, and at last got out his 
desire “ to propose the health of the bridesmaids — whose 
dresses had been the admiration of the beholders ; who, 
one and all, were only second in beauty to the bride ; and 
who had performed their part so well. He was quite sure 
he expressed the feelings of every one present in hoping to 
see them act equally creditably at no distant date on a similar 
occasion ; ” and so sat down in a state of intense confusion, 
under the scowls of the young ladies, the good-natured 
silence of the gentlemen, and an audible whisper from Miss 
Tregunter, that “ she never heard anybody make such a 
mess of anything in her life! ” 

Somebody must reton thanks for the bridesmaids ; and a 
whisper creeping round the tables soon rose to a shout of 
“ Mr. Egremont ! Mr. Egremont 1 Go it, Dolly ! Speak 
up 1 It’s all in your line I No quotations ! ” It brought 
Dolly to his legs ; and he endeavoured to respond with the 
amount of merriment and facetiousness required. But no ; 
it would not come. That pale face with the slowly-dripping 
tears stiU haunted him ; and whilst he could fix his thoughts 
on nothing else, he dared not look again in the direction of 
the bride. He blundered, indeed, through a few of the 
usual empty phrases and vapid compliments. He identified 
himself with the bundle of beauty for which he spoke ; he 
only regretted not being a bridesmaid, because if he were, 
he could never possibly be a bridegroom. He lamented, 
like a hypocrite, as Miss Tregunter well knew, the difficulty 
of choosing from so dazzling an assemblage, and con- 
cluded by thanking Burton, in the name of the young 
ladies he represented, for his good wishes on future 
occasions of a similar nature, but suggested that perhaps 
if they came to the altar “ one at a time, it would last 
the longer, and might prove a more interesting ceremony 
to each.” 

Still Dolly’s heart was heavy ; and misgivings of evil, 
such as he had never entertained before, clouded his 
genial humour, and almost brought the tears to his eyes. 
Even when the “ happy couple ” drove off, and he threw an 
old shoe for luck after their carnage, something seemed to 
check his outstretched ai*m, something seemed to whisper 


FOB BETTER 


147 


in his ear, that for all the bright sunshine and the smiling 
sky a dark cloud lowered over the pale proud head of the 
beautiful bride; and that for Norah Vandeleur ancient 
customs, kindly superstitions, and good wishes, were all 
in vain. 


CHAPTEK XIX 


FOR WORSE 

Mr. Bruff was a kind-hearted fellow. To their credit be 
it spoken, actors and actresses, although so familiar with 
fictitious sorrow and excitement, are of all people the 
most sensitive to cases of real distress. Many a morning 
had Mr. Bruff waited anxiously for Mrs. Briggs, to hear her 
report of the young officer’s health ; and at last, when that 
worthy woman informed him, with a radiant face, that the 
patient was what she called “on the turn,” he shook both 
her hands with such vehemence that she felt persuaded she 
had made a conquest, and began to reflect on the prudence 
of marrying again, being well-to-do in the world, and not 
much past fifty years of age. She had, however, many 
other matters on her mind just at present. From the time 
Gerard recovered consciousness, Fanny was never in his 
room except while he slept, though she continually pervaded 
the passage, poor girl, with a pale face, and eager, anxious 
eyes. On Mrs. Briggs, therefore, devolved the nursing of 
the invalid ; a duty she undertook with extreme good-will 
and that energy which seldom deserts a woman who is 
continually cleaning her own house, and “ tidying-up,” 
both above stairs and below. 

She wished, though, she had put on a smarter cap, when 
Mr. Bruff tapped at the door, to present his compliments, 
with kind inquiries, good wishes, and yesterday’s paper — 
not very clean, and tainted by tobacco-smoke, but calculated, 
nevertheless, to enliven the leisure of an invalid in an 
aiTQchair. 

Gerard was this morning out of bed for the first time. 

148 


FOB WOBSE 


149 


Mrs. Briggs had got him up ; had washed, dressed, and 
would even have shaved him, but that the young chin could 
well dispense with such attention. No contrast could be 
much greater than that of the wan, delicate, emaciated 
invalid by the fire, and the square, black-browed, rough- 
looking, red-nosed sympathiser in the passage. 

Mrs. Briggs, with her sleeves tucked up, and apron 
girded round her waist, kept the door ajar, and so held 
converse with the visitor, while she would not permit him 
to come in. “ To-morrow, Mr. Bruft',” said she graciously, 
“or the day after, according as the doctor thinks well. 
You’ve a good heart of your own, though you don’t look it ! 
And he thanks you kindly, does my poor young gentleman, 
for he’s dozing beautiful now, and so do I ; ” slamming the 
door thereafter in his face, and returning with the newspaper 
to her charge. “ And you may thank heaven on yom’ Imees, 
my dear,” continued the landlady, who liked to improve an 
occasion, and was never averse to hear herself talk, “ as 
you’re sitting alive and upright in that there cheer this 
blessed day. You may thank heaven, and the young 
woman upstairs, as was with you when they brought you 
in, and never left you, my dear, day and night, till you took 
your turn, no more nor if she’d been your sister or your 
sweetheart ! ” 

“What? I’ve been very bad, have I?” asked Gerard, 
still a good deal confused, and conscious chiefiy of great 
weakness and a languor not wholly unpleasant. 

“ Bad ! ” echoed Mrs. Briggs. “ It’s death’s-door as 
you’ve been nigh, my dear, to the very scraper. And when 
we’d all lost heart, and even Doctor Driver looked as black 
as night, and shook his head solemn, it was only the young 
woman upstairs as kep’ us up, for we can’t spare him, says 
she, an’ we won’t, as pale as death, an’ as fixed as fate. 
An’ Doctor Driver says, says he, ‘ If ever a young gentle- 
man was kep’ alive by careful nursing, why, my dear, it 
was your own self, through this last ten days, an’ that’s 
the girl as done it ! ’ ” 

“ Where is she ? ” exclaimed Gerard, eagerly, and with 
a changing colour, that showed how weak he was. “ I’ve 
never thanked her. Can’t I see her at once? What a 
brute she must think me! ” 


150 


THE WHITE BOSE 


‘‘Patience, my dear,” said motherly Mrs. Briggs. “It 
isn’t likely as the young woman would come in now you’re 
so much better, till you was up and dressed. But if you’ll 
promise to take your chicken-broth like a good young 
gentleman, why I dare say as the young woman will 
bring it up for you. And I must go and see about it 
now, this minute, for I dursn’t trust H’Anne. So you 
take a look of your paper there, and keep your mind easy, 
my dear, for you’re getting better nicely now ; though it’s 
good food and good nursing as you require, and good food 
and good nursing I’ll take care as you get.” 

So Mrs. Briggs scuttled off to her own especial department 
helow-stairs, pleased with the notion that a touching little 
romance was going on in her humble dwelling, fostered by 
the combined influences of convalescence, contiguity, and 
chicken-broth. She felt favourably disposed towards her 
invalid, towards his nurse, towards Mr. Bruff, towards the 
world in general, — even towards the negligent and constantly 
erring H’Anne. 

Gerard, left alone, tried, of course, to walk across the 
room and was surprised to And that he could not so much 
as stand mthout holding by the table. Even after so 
trifling an exertion he was glad to return to his chair, and 
sank hack to read his newspaper, with a sigh of extreme 
contentment and repose. 

Its columns seemed to recall at once that world which 
had so nearly slipped away. He skipped the leading article, 
indeed, but would probably have missed it had he been in 
high health, and proceeded to those lighter subjects which 
it required little mental effort to master or comprehend. 
He read a couple of police reports and a divorce case; 
learned that a scientific gentleman had propounded a new 
theory about aerolites ; and tried to realise a distressing 
accident (nine lives lost) on the Mersey. Then he rested a 
little, plunged into a more comfortable attitude, and turned 
the sheet for a look at the other side. 

There was half a column of births, deaths, and marriages, 
and he was languidly pitying Felix Bunney, Esq., of The 
Warren, whose lady had produced twins, when casting his eye 
a little lower down, he read the following announcement : — 
“ On the — instant, at Marston Kectory, shire, by the 


FOB WOBSE 


i6i 


Reverend William Welby, father of the bride, Leonora, 
only daughter of the above, to John Vandeleur, Esq., of 

Oakover, in the same county, and Square, London, 

S.W.” His head swam. That was bodily weakness, of 
course ! But though the printed letters danced up and 
down the paper, he made an effort, and read it over 
carefully, word by word, once more. His first feeling, 
strange to say, was of astonishment that he could bear the 
blow so well ; that he was not stunned, prostrated, driven 
mad outright ! Perhaps his very weakness was in his 
favom’ ; perhaps the extreme bodily lassitude to which 
he was reduced deprived him of the power to suffer 
intensely, and the poor bruised reed bent under a blast 
that would have crushed some thriving standard plant 
cruelly to the earth. He realised the whole scene of the 
wedding, though its figures wavered before his eyes like 
a dream. He could see the grave father and priest in 
his long, sweeping vestm’e ; the manly, confident face of 
Mr. Vandeleur, with its smile of triumph ; the bonny 
bridesmaids circling round the altar; and Norah, pale, 
stately, beautiful, with that fatal wreath on her fair young 
brow, and her transparent veil floating like a mist about the 
glorious form that he had hoped against hope some day to 
make his own. Fool ! fool ! could he blame her ? What 
right had he to suppose she was to waste her youth and 
beauty on a chance, and wait years for him ? He ought 
to have known it. He ought to have expected it. But it 
was hard to bear. Hard, hard, to bear ! Particularly 
now ! Then he leaned his head on the table, and wept 
freely — bitterly. Poor fellow ! he was weakened, you see, 
by illness, and not himself, or he would surely never have 
given way like this. After a while he rallied, for the lad 
did not want courage, and, weak as he was, summoned up 
pride to help him. I think it hurt him then more than at 
first. Presently he grew angry, as men often do when very 
sorrowful, and turned fiercely against the love he had so 
cherished for months, vowing that it was all feverish folly 
and illusion, a boy’s malady, that must be got over and 
done with before he enters on a man’s work. He ought to 
have known the truth long ago. He had read of such things 
in his Ovid, in his Lempriere, in Thackeray’s biting pages. 


162 


THE WHITE BOSE 


clandestinely devoured at study-hours, beneath a volume of 
Whewell’s Dynamics, or Gribbon’s Roman Empire. Varinm 
et mutahile seemed the verdict alike of Latin love-poet and 
classical referee; while the English novelist, whose sen- 
timents so strangely influence both young and old, spoke of 
the subject with a grim pity, half in sorrow, half in anger, 
excusing with quaint phrases and pathetic humour the 
inconstancy of her whose very nature it is to be fascinated 
by novelty and subject to the influence of change. 

“ I suppose women are all so ! ” concluded the invalid, 
with a sigh ; and then he remembered Mother Briggs’s 
account of his accident, and his illness ; of the nurse that 
had tended him so indefatigably and so devotedly ; 
wondering who she was, and what she was, when he 
was likely to see her, whether she was pretty, and why she 
was there. 

Notwithstanding all this, he began to read over the 
paragraph about the wedding once again, when there came 
a tap, and the bump of a tray against his door. The 
chicken-broth now made its appearance, flanked by long 
strips of toast, and borne by a comely young woman 
quietly dressed, whom he recognised at once as his former 
fishing acquaintance. Miss Draper, of Ripley Mill. 

Fanny’s beauty, always of the florid order, had not 
suffered from watching and anxiety. On the contrary, it 
appeared more refined and delicate than of old ; nor, 
though she had been very pale in the passage, was there 
any want of colour in her face while she set down the tray. 
Never in her life had she blushed so scarlet, never trembled 
and toned away before from the face of man. 

He half rose, in natural courtesy, but his knees would 
not keep straight, and he was fain to sit down again. She 
came round behind him, and busied herself in setting the 
pillows of his chair. 

^‘Miss Draper,” he began, trying to turn and look her 
in the face, “ what must you think of me ? Never to have 
recognised you ! Never to have thanked you ! I only 
heard to-day of all your kindness ; and till you came in 
this moment, I had not found out who it was that nursed 
me. I must have been very ill indeed not to know you.” 

Weak and faint as it came, it was the same voice that so 


FOB WORBF 


153 


won on her that soft summer’s day when the Mayfly was 
on Eipley-water. It was the same kindly, gentle, high-bred 
manner that acted on the low-horn woman like a charm. 

You have been very ill, sir,” she murmured, still 
keeping behind him. “ You frightened us all for a day or 
two. It’s heaven’s mercy you came through.” 

He sighed. Was he thinking that for him it would have 
been more merciful never to have recovered a consciousness 
that only made him vulnerable? Better to have been 
carried down the lodging-house stairs in his coffin, than to 
walk out on his feet, with the knowledge that Norah 
Vandeleur was lost to him for ever ! But he could not be 
ungrateful, and his voice trembled with real feeling, while 
he said, It is not only heaven’s mercy, hut your care, that 
has saved me. You must not think I don’t feel it. It 
seems so absurd for a fellow not to be able to stand up. 
I — I can’t say half as much as I should like.” 

Still behind him, still careful that he should not see her 
face, though there were no blushes to hide now. Indeed 
she had grown very pale again. Her voice, too, was none 
of the steadiest, while she assumed the nurse’s authority 
once more, and bade him begin on his chicken-broth 
without delay. 

“ I know it’s good,” said she, for I helped to make it. 
Both Mrs. Briggs and Dr. Driver say you must have 
plenty of nourishment. Hadn’t you better eat it before 
it’s cold ? ” 

Convalescence in early manhood means the hunger of 
the wolf. He obeyed at once ; and Fanny, fairly turning 
her back on him, looked steadfastly out of the window. 

I do not know why there should be less romance in the 
consumption of chicken-broth by an Infantry ensign than 
in the cutting of bread and butter by a German maiden, 
with blue eyes, flaxen hair, and well-developed form. It 
all depends upon the accessories. I am not sure but that 
on reflection most of us would be forced to admit that the 
tenderest moments of our lives are connected in some 
manner with the act of eating and drinking. Of all ways 
to the heart, the shortest seems, perhaps, to be down the 
throat. In the higher classes, what a deal of love-making 
is carried on at dinner parties, picnics, above all, ball- 


164 


THE WHITE BOSE 


suppers. In the middle, a suitor never feels that he is 
progressing satisfactorily till he is asked to tea ; and in the 
lower, although bread and cheese as well as bacon may 
prove non-conductors, a good deal of business, no doubt, is 
done through the agency of beer ! “ Venus perishes,” 

says the Latin proverb, “without the assistance of Bacchus 
and Ceres.” Nor, although I am far from disputing that 
love-fits may be contracted so violent as to prove incurable 
even by starvation, have I any doubt that the disease is 
more fatal to a full man than one fasting. In other 
words, that few admirers, if any, are so attentive, so plastic, 
so playful, altogether so agreeable, before breakfast as after 
dinner. 

Gerard finished every crumb of his toast, and every drop 
of his chicken broth undisturbed, The avidity with which 
he ate was in itself the best possible omen of returning 
health and strength ; and yet Fanny still looked out at 
window, on the dull deserted street. Even the tinkling of 
his spoon in the empty basin did not serve to arrest her 
attention, and he would have gone and shaken her by the 
hand, to thank her once more for her kindness, hut that 
he knew he could not walk those three paces to save 
his life. 

His pocket-handkerchief was on the chimney-piece ; he 
wanted it, and could not reach it. Nothing was more 
natural than that he should ask his nurse to hand it him, 
neither was it possible for her to refuse compliance ; hut as 
theii* fingers met, although she tried hard to keep her 
face averted, he could not hut see that the tears were 
streaming down her cheeks — tears, as his own heart told 
him, of joy and thanksgiving for his safety — tears of pity 
and affection — and of love. 

He clasped the hand that touched his own, and drew her 
towards him. “ Miss Draper — Fanny ! ” said he, never a 
word more, and she flung herself down on her knees, and 
buried her face on his arm, bursting out sobbing as if her 
heart would break ; and then he knew it all — all ; — the 
whole sad story from the beginning of their acquaintance — 
the ill-matched, ill-conceived attachment out of which happi- 
ness could never come ! He pitied her, he soothed her, he 
stroked her glossy hair, he bent his own face down to hers. 


FOE WOESE 


155 


I love you ! I love you ! ” she sobbed out wildly. I 
loved you from the first — the day we walked together by 
Ripley-water. I can’t help it. It’s too late now. If you 
had died, I should have died too. If you go away and 
leave me, I’ll break my heart. Oh ! if I was a lady ! 
If only I was a lady ! Why shouldn’t I be ? ” 

He was weakened by illness. He was alone in the 
world now. His heart, all sore and quivering, was painfully 
sensitive to the touch of consolation and afection. What 
wonder if he suffered his wiser nature to be overborne ; 
what wonder if he accepted all that was so lavishly poured 
out at his feet, and shutting his eyes wilfully to conse- 
quences, promised Fanny Draper that she should be “ a 
lady ” as soon as ever he was strong enough to stand up 
and say ‘‘ amen ” in a church. 

Mr. Bruff, could he have obtained admittance, might 
have taken a very pretty lesson in stage love-making during 
the next half-hour. Gerard Ainslie, lending himself willingly 
to that which he knew all the time was an illusion, vowed 
to his own heart that he was acting nobly, honourably, 
chivalrously, according to the dictates of gratitude, and as 
in duty bound ,* while Fanny Draper, in love for the first 
time in her life, felt she had gained everything hitherto 
desired by her ill-regulated fancy, and was ready, nay, 
willing to take the consequences of her venture, be they 
what they might. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE HONEYMOON 

There was a pretty little room at Oakover, opening by a 
French window into a sheltered flower-garden, which Mrs. 
Vandeleur had voted from the very first especially adapted 
for a breakfast-parlour. Its bright paper, pretty furniture, 
choice engravings, and, above all, abundance of light, 
afforded every encouragement to that cheerfulness of mood 
and feelings with which it is advisable to begin the day. 
It must have been an obstinate fit of ill-humour to resist all 
these accessories, assisted by a glimpse of sunshine, a 
weU-served breakfast, and a comfortable fire. 

Into this pleasant apartment stepped Mr. Vandeleur 
about ten o’clock in the morning towards the conclusion 
of that sequestered period termed conventionally his honey- 
moon, but on the bridegroom’s worn face sat an expression 
of restlessness and discontent in keeping neither with time 
nor place. He walked up to the fire, seized the poker, gave 
a savage dig at the coals, and rang the bell with a short, 
stem jerk that brought the smoothest and politest of 
servants to the door in less than thirty seconds. They 
were all a good deal afraid of him below stairs, and it is 
needless to say nobody was better waited on than the 
master of Oakover. 

“ Has Mrs. Vandeleur been down ? ” said he, glancing 
impatiently at the unused breakfast-service. 

“ I think not, sir,” answered the domestic, respectfully; 

but Miss G-lancer’s just come from her room, and I’ll 
inquire.” 

“Tell her to go up again and let her mistress know 

156 


THE HONEYMOON 


157 


breakfast is ready,” said his master sternly, and walked off 
to the mndow muttering, not so low but that the sers^ant 
overheard — 

‘‘ Not down yet ! She never is down when I am ! To 
be sure, Glancer’s the worst maid in Europe. I can see 
that with half an eye. And a saucy, troublesome jade into 
the bargain. Margaret always used to breakfast with me. 
But this one — this one ! I wonder whether I’ve been a 
cursed fool ? Sometimes I think I have ! ” 

Then Mr. Vandeleur, taking no notice of his breakfast, 
nor the unopened letters piled beside his plate, whistled, 
shook his head, thrust his hands into his pockets, and 
looked out at window. 

It was late autumn, almost early winter, and a coating 
of hoarfrost still lay crisp and white where the lawn was 
sheltered by an angle of the building from the sun. Such 
flowers as had not been removed were sadly blackened by 
the cold ; while, though the tan and russet hues of the 
waning year still clothed their lower branches, the topmost 
twigs of the trees cut bare and leafless against the deep, 
blue, dazzling sky. The scene without was bright, clear, 
and beautiful; but chilling, hard, and cheerless, all the same. 

Perhaps it was the more in keeping, with certain reflec- 
tions of the proprietor within. For five minutes he stood 
motionless, looking steadfastly at a presumptuous robin 
smirking and sidling and pruning itself on the gravel-walk. 

In that five minutes how many by-gone scenes did he 
conjure up ! How many years, how much of an ill-spent 
lifetime, did he travel back into the past ! 

London, in the heyday of youth, and health, and hope. 
Fashion, position, popularity, smiles of beauty, smiles of 
fortune, social and material success of every kind. Paris, in 
the prime of manhood, when the gilt was perhaps a little 
off the ginger-bread, but the food tasted luscious and 
satisfying still. More smiles, more beauty ; the smiles 
franker, broader, sprightlier ; the beauty less retiring, less 
difficult to please. Then England once more, with its 
field-sports, its climate, its comforts, its conveniences ; the 
boon companions, the jovial gatherings, the liberty, even 
the license of a bachelor in a country home. After that, 
marriage. Spirits still buoyant, health still unbroken, and 


158 


THE WHITE ROSE 


the dear, fragile, devoted, tender wife, of whom, even now, 
here waiting for his bride to breakfast with him, he could 
not think without a gnawing pain about his heart ! 

His bride ! The one woman of his whole life whom he 
had most desired to win. Not to please his fancy, as he 
knew too well ; not to minister to his vanity ; hut — and he 
smiled to think he was using the language of idiotic 
romance and drawing-room poetry, of unfledged hoys and 
boarding-school girls — to satisfy his longing to be loved. 
He, the used-up, worn-out, grizzled old reprobate ! What 
business had he, as he asked himself, grinning and 
clenching his hands, what business had he with hopes and 
fancies like these ? After such a life as his, was he to be 
rewarded at last by the true affection of a pure and spotless 
woman ? If there was such a thing as retribution in this 
world, what had he a right to expect ? Dared he tell her a 
tenth, a hundredth of his follies, his iniquities, his crimes ? 
Could he look into those guileless eyes, and not blush with 
veiy shame at his own memories ? Could he rest his head 
on that white sinless breast, and not quiver with remorse, 
self-scorn, and self-reproach ? Still, if she did but love him, 
if she could but love him, he felt there was a chance for 
repentance and amendment ; he felt there was hope even 
for him. 

If she could but love him. Alas ! he was beginning to 
fear she had not learned to love him yet. 

A quiet step in the passage, the rustle of a dress, and 
Norah entered the room. Norah, looking twice as beautiful 
as on the wedding morning, though still far too pale and 
grave and stately for a bride. Her deep eyes had always 
something of melancholy in them, but they were deeper 
and darker than ever of late ; while on the chiseled features 
of the fair, proud face, for months had been settling an 
expression of repressed feeling and enforced composure, 
that caused it to look tranquil, reserved, and matronly 
beyond its years. 

She was beautifully dressed, though in somewhat sober 
colours for a bride; and as Vandeleur turned round on her 
entrance, his eyes could not but be pleased wdth the folds 
of falling drapery that marked while they enhanced the 
faultless outline of her shape. 


THE HONEYMOON 


159 


She passed his letters with scarcely a glauce, though the 
uppermost of the pile was addressed in a hand, feeble, 
delicate, scrawling, not to be mistaken for a man’s. Few 
wives so lately married but would have betrayed some 
curiosity as to the correspondent. Norah saw nothing, it 
would seem, and suspected nothing, for she sat down before 
the urn without a word, and proceeded to make tea in a 
somewhat listless manner, now becoming habitual. 

** You’re late, my dear,” said Vandeleur, seating himself, 
too, and proceeding to open his letters. 

“ Am I? ” she replied, absently. “ I’m afraid I’m very 
lazy. And I don’t sleep so well as I used.” 

It was true enough. I suppose nobody does sleep well 
who is haunted by a sense of having acted unfairly towards 
two other people, and having lost at the same time all the 
hopes once glowing so brightly in the future. Norah’s 
slumbers were broken, no doubt ; and though 

“ The name she dared not name by day” 

was never on her lips in her waking hours, the phantom of 
its owner, with sad, reproachful eyes, paid her, perhaps, 
many an unwelcome visit in the visions of the night. 

She went on quietly with her breakfast, taking no more 
notice of her husband, till a burst of repressed laughter 
caused her to look up astonished ; and she observed him 
convulsed with a merriment peculiar to himself, that from 
some unexplained cause always impressed her with a sense 
of fear. 

Vandeleur had started slightly when he opened the top- 
most letter of his pile. He had not at first recognised the 
hand-writing, so much had some dozen lessons and a few 
weeks’ painstaking done for his correspondent, but the 
signature set all doubt at rest, while the matter of the 
epistle seemed to afford food for considerable mirth and 
approbation, denoted by such half- spoken expressions as 
the following : — 

“Clever girl ! ” “ How right I was ! ” “I said she 
would if she had the chance!” “What an inconceivable 
young fool I ” “I know it ! I know it I ” “ You deserve as 
much again, and you shall have it by return of post ! ” 


160 


THE WHITE BOSE 


The letter was indeed explicit enough. It ran as 
follows : — 

“ Honoured Sir, — In accordance with my promise, I now 
take up my pen to apprise you that everything has been 
arranged as I have reason to believe you desired, and 
you will see by the signature below that my earthly 
happiness is now assured and complete. Sir, it was but 
last week as I became the lawful wife of Mr. Ainslie, and I 
lose no time in acquainting you with the same. I am 
indeed a happy woman, though you will not care to hear 
this — perhaps will not believe that I speak the truth. As 
heaven is above me, I declare my Gerard is all and every- 
thing I can wish. Sir, I would not change places with any 
woman in the world. 

“ He has met with a serious accident in a fall from his 
horse, and been very bad, as you may have heard, but is 
doing well now, and with my nursing will soon be strong 
and hearty again. We are living in lodgings at the same 
address. Of course I have been put to a considerable 
expense, particularly at first, but I am aware that I can 
safely trust your generous promise, and fulfilment of what 
you said you would do. 

“ Mr. Vandeleur, — Sir, — Do not laugh at me ; I love 
my husband very dearly, and nothing shall ever come 
between us now. 

“ Your dutiful and obliged 

“ Fanny Ainslie.” 

“ Capital ! capital ! ” exclaimed Vandeleur when he 
reached the end. “ Ton my soul, it’s too absurd, too 
ludicrous ! What will the world come to next? ” 

“ Something seems to amuse you,” observed Norah, 
quietly. ‘‘ If it’s no secret, suppose you tell it me — I feel 
this morning as if a laugh would do me good.” 

** Secret ! my dear,” repeated Vandeleur. “ It won’t be 
a secret long. Certainly not, if newspapers and parish 
registers tell the truth. It would seem incredible, only I 
have it from the lady herself. Such a lady ! I should 
think she couldn’t spell her own name six weeks ago. 
Would you believe it, Norah? That young fool, Gerard 
Ainslie, has been and married a girl you remember down 


THE HONEYMOON 


161 


here, called Fanny Draper. A bold tawdry girl who used 
to be always hanging about Ripley Mill. Here's her 
letter ! You can read it if you like ! ” 

He looked very hard at Norah while he gave it, but his 
wife never moved an eyelash, taking it from his hand coldly 
and impenetrably as if it had been an egg or a teaspoon. 
With the same fixed face and impassive manner she read 
it through from end to end, and returned it, observing only 
in a perfectly unmoved voice — 

** I believe she loves him. It is an unfortunate marriage, 
but I hope he will be happy.” 

Mrs. Vandeleur appeared, however, less amused than her 
husband; nor do I think she took this opportunity of 
enjoying the laugh she thought would do her so much good 
on that cold frosty morning at Oakover. 


11 


CHAPTER XXI 


RETRIBUTION 

There is something unspeakably touching in that holy 
parable which describes the desolation of him who has been 
hitherto possessed by an unclean spirit, as he wanders 
aimlessly through dry and deserted places, “ seeking rest, 
and finding none!” John Vandeleur, not yet married a 
year, had already discovered that for him there was to be 
no such repose as springs from a quiet heart. In his youth 
and in his prime he had scorned the idea of Peace, and 
now, thirsting for her loving murmur, longing to be fanned 
by her snowy wing, he felt that over the surface of those 
troubled waters, in which his soul was sunk, the dove, 
however weary, must flit in vain for evermore. 

Climbing the Taunus mountain with long athletic strides, 
he heeded little the glorious panorama of Rhineland, 
stretching round him to the horizon. What cared he for 
the polished stems and gleaming foliage of those giant 
beeches, or the black lines of stunted pine against the 
summer sky ? The wide Palatinate might smile beneath 
him, rising as he ascended into tier on tier of vineyards, 
corn-fields, meadow-land, and forest. The winding river, 
4iere a sheet of silver, there a gleam of gold, might dwindle 
to a single thread ere it vanished in the dim distance, 
that melted cloud and mountain together in one blue 
vapoury haze, hut Vandeleur scarcely turned his head to 
look. He certainly was not of the meek, nor in the sense 
in which they are heirs of all that is bright and beautiful 
in nature, could he be said to “ inherit the earth.” 

He walked on faster and faster, goaded as it would seem 
162 


RETRIBUTION 


163 


by some gnawing pain within, but stopping short at 
intervals to look round and make sure he was alone, when 
he would burst out in harsh peals of laughter, loud and 
long, yet suggestive of anything but mirth. Then he would 
hasten on, gesticulating, muttering, sometimes even raising 
his voice as though in conversation with another. I am 
miserable ! ” so ran his wild unruly thoughts, half-silenced, 
half-expressed. ‘‘ Miserable ! I know it — I feel it. And 
it’s my own fault ! I see that poor German devil in a blouse 
working his heart out at a dung-heap for forty kreutzers a- 
day, and, by heaven, I envy him ! I, John Vandeleur, the 
man so many fellows will tell you is the luckiest dog on 
earth. And why ? Because he lived to please himself till 
he was tir.ed of everything, and now when he would give 
the heart of his body to please another, he can’t do it ! Not 
man enough, forsooth ! What is there in me that this 
cold insensible girl cannot be brought to love ? Oh ! you 
fool, you cm’sed fool ! You, who knew it all, who had gone 
the whole round, who had once even found what you wanted 
and been almost happy for a while — to play your liberty 
against a pair of blue eyes and a knot of chestnut hair 
dipped in gold ! But what eyes, what hair she has ! Ah ! 
Norah, why can you not love me? Perhaps it’s my 
punishment' Perhaps there is a Providence, and it serves 
me right. Perhaps a man has no business to expect that 
he shall wage aggressive warfare on them for a score of 
years, and win the best and noblest and fairest to make 
him happy at the finish. What fun I had, to be s'ure. 
Ah ! those orgies in Paris, those suppers after the opera, — 
the masquerading, the champagne, the dancing, the devilry 
of the whole game ! And now it makes me sick to think 
of it all. What has come over me ? Is it that I am 
getting old ? Yes, it must be that I am getting old. It’s 
no use ; Time won’t stop even for John Vandeleur, though 
the staunch old * plater ’ has waited on me patiently enough 
while I made the running, I must allow. I am strong and 
active too. I feel as if I could fight, and I am sure I could 
dance still. Not many of the young ones could touch me, 
up this hill now, for a breather, fair heel and toe; but 
there are wrinkles on my face, I saw them this morning, 
and whole streaks of grey in my hair and whiskers. It 


164 


THE WHITE HOSE 


must be that — I am too old for her, poor girl, and she can’t 
bring herself to care for me, though she tries so hard. And 
it worries her — it frets her, the darling. It makes her pale 
and sad and weary. Sawder’s an ass ! He knew he was 
lying when he talked of Oakover being too cold for her in 
the winter. It wasn’t the cold outside that made my pretty 
one so pale. He knew it ! And he knew he was lying, 
too, when he ordered us here for a change of air, and 
bothered about her being below the mark and wanting tone. 
Idiots ! What the devil do doctors mean by talking about 
tone, as if a woman was a pianoforte or a big drum ! And 
I should like to know why the air of Homburg is different 
from the air of Richmond or Brighton, or London, for the 
matter of that ! I never knew a woman except Norah that 
London didn’t agree with in the season. No, what makes 
Norah ill is being my wife. It is I who have injured her 
— I who would do anything to make her happy. And how 
can I repair the harm I’ve done ? She has a devilish good 
jointure ; why not set her free ? It is but a leap in the 
air, a touch to a trigger. Nay, there are easier ways than 
those. And is life worth having after all ? I should know 
better than most people : I’ve had the best of everything, done 
almost everything in my time, and, upon my word, I hardly 
think it is ! What with rent-days, servants, men of business, 
lame horses, and that eternal dressing and undressing, there’s 
a deal of trouble connected with terrestrial existence. I dare 
say the other place isn’t half such a bore. I wonder if there 
is another place. I’ve a deuced good mind to find out soon 
— this very day. Not till after dinner though. I haven’t 
had an appetite since I came here, but I think mountain 
air and a twelve-mile walk ought to do it. Holloa ! who’s 
this in a nankeen jacket? I do believe it’s Tourbillon. 
Hola, he. C’est toi, n’est-ce pas, Tourbillon? Parole 
d’honneur, mon cher, je ne m’en doutais pas. II parait 
done, qu’il n’y a que les montagnes qui ne se rencontrent — 
Hein ? ” 

The individual thus accosted, whom Vandeleur’s quick 
pace had overtaken going up the hill, turned, stood for a 
moment, as it were transfixed in an attitude of theatrical 
astonishment, and then folded the Englishman in a nankeen 
embrace, with many quiet protestations denoting his ex- 


RETBIBUTION 


165 


treme delight at this unexpected meeting, couched in the 
English language, which, priding himself on his proficiency, 
he spoke as only a Frenchman can. Count Tourbillon was 
remarkably handsome, about two or three- and-thirty, and 
some years before had formed a close intimacy with Vande- 
leur at Paris. The Count was essentially what his country- 
men term a vivem% leading a life of systematic profligacy 
and self-indulgence with a happy philosophy that seemed to 
accept Vice as the natural element of humanity. He would 
take you by the arm, and detail to you some proceeding of 
flagrant iniquity with the measured accent and calm 
approval of one who relates a meritorious instance of 
benevolence, or expatiates on a beautiful law of nature. 
Epigrammatic rather than fluent, terse rather than voluble, 
contrary to the accepted type of his nation, he affected an 
extraordinary composure and insouciance in the more impor- 
tant, as in the more trivial affairs of daily life. He would 
dance a cotillon, carve a chicken, or run an adversary 
through the body, with the same immovable face, the same 
polite and self-reliant manner, that seemed onl}’^ intent on 
strictly following out the rules of politeness, and conscien- 
tiously meeting the exigencies of society. His figure was 
firmly put together and strong, cast in the round mould of 
liis nation. His face very handsome and sparkling, with 
its ruddy brown complexion that no excess seemed to pale, 
and its bright black eyes, never dull with fatigue nor 
dimmed vdth wine. Blessed with an iron constitution, he 
conscientiously made the worst possible use of its advan- 
tages. 

“And you have been here long, my friend?” said he, 
taking Vandeleur affectionately by the arm and tiuminghim 
down hill for a walk back to Homburg. “ For me, I have 
been voyaging here, there, what you call ‘ on the loose,’ and 
I only found myself at Frankfort last evening. I journeyed 
on at once. No, I have been too often in Frankfoi-t to 
linger about the Juden-Gasse, and I have already seen too 
frequently the naked Ariadne on her Lion. So I took the 
railroad, slept at the Quatre Saisons, and marched up here 
like a conscript, because the mountain air always does me 
good. Ah ! rogue ! I know what you would ask. No, I 
have not been to work yet. ‘ Bizness,’ as you call it. I 


166 


THE WHITE ROSE 


have not even looked at the play-tahles. Be tranquil ; 
there are yet many hom’s till midnight. I little thought it 
would arrive to me to meet so old a friend here on this 
mountain, which, for the rest, interests me not at all. And 
you, how goes it ? Frankly, you look well, you have more 
flesh, you do not age by a day.” 

The Vandeleur to whom Tourbillon thus addressed him- 
self was indeed a very different man from the Vandeleur of 
five minutes ago. Keen, excitable, on the surface at least 
impressionable, and influenced by the temptation or the 
circumstances of the moment, he had become once more, to 
all outward appearance, the agi-eeable acquaintance, the 
jovial companion, the ready man of the world, whose society 
Tourbillon had found so pleasant in Paris a few short years 
ago. There are many characters of considerable depth thus 
easily affected by external agencies, of which they throw off 
the consequences as rapidly as they arise. Far down 
beneath the dark cold waters, slime and weeds, and ugly 
rotting waifs, and dead men’s bones, may he lying, foul, 
secret, and undisturbed, though the surface he smiling calm 
and blue in the summer sunshine, or leaping gladly into life 
and movement, fresh, white, and curling under a ten-knot 
breeze. 

It is part of the creed professed by such men as Vandeleui 
to seem bon camarade before the world, whatever be amiss 
within, and perhaps they do cheat the Avenger out of a 
stripe or two, in this strict obseiwance of their faith. 

“ Like me,” replied the Englishman. “ I have hardly 
yet been here long enough for Mrs. Vandeleur to begin the 
Louisen-Briinnen. You don’t know Mrs. Vandeleur. I 
must present you. Tourbillon, I’m not so easily amused as 
I used to be. This is a d d slow place ! ” 

“Slow! ” replied the other, lighting a paper cigarette, 
and inhaling its fumes into his lungs. “ No place can be 
slow, as you call it, when one has a charming wife ; and 
that yours is chai-ming I need not be told. You shall 
present me to madame this very afternoon, when I have 
made my toilette. I trust madame derives benefit already 
from the waters and the air of the Taunus ? ” 

“I hope so,” answered Vandeleur absently. “There 
ought to be some redeeming quality in such a hole as this. 


RETRIBUTION 


167 


I wish now we had come through Paris, only they said it 
would he bad for her. Why is it, I wonder, that everything 
pleasant must be either wrong, expensive, or unwholesome? 
Sometimes all three ? ” 

Ah ! you reflect, my friend,” replied Tourbillon ; “ but 
your reflections are not of the philosopher. To he wrong ! 
that is, not to think as I do. To be expensive ! that is, to 
respect civilisation, to observe the laws of political economy. 
And to be unwholesome ! Bah ! There is no such thing. 
All excess cures itself, and inclination is the best guide. I 
wish you had been in Paris three weeks ago, my friend. 
They asked for you at the Jockey Club, and Frontignac 
even vowed he would go to England to fetch you. We had 
an entertainment that only wanted your assistance to he 
superb ! ” 

“I should have thought my companions were all dead or 
ruined, or shut up,” said Yandeleur, laughing. “ You 
fellows live pretty fast over there, and I haven’t been on 
a Boulevard since Charles Martel won your two-year-old 
stakes, and Frontignac lost 50,000 francs, because he 
wouldn’t believe what I told him ; and that is how long 
ago?” 

“ More than a year, since he is first favourite at present 
for the French Derby. And imagine that you are not yet 
forgotten ! Why, supper was hardly over before Madelon 
talked of you with tears in her eyes. ‘ You will see him at 
Baden,’ she said; ‘these English all go to Baden. Tell 
him that I will never speak to him again, but that he still 
lives in my dreams ! ’ See what it is to have a heart ! ” 

Tourbillon stopped to light a fresh cigarette, and Vande- 
leur laughed a laugh not pleasant to hear. 

“ Such a heart as Madelon’s is indeed worth gold,” said 
he ; “ and a good deal of it, too, as most of us have found 
out to our cost. I am sorry though she has not forgotten 
me, because it shows that she does not expect to find so 
egregious a fool again in France or England ! And how she 
used to bore me ! ” 

“ I permit not one woman to bore me more than another,” 
answered the Frenchman. “ But I agree with you. Made- 
Ion ceased to be amusing when she began to educate herself. 
The most charming person I have seen lately is a South Sea 


168 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Islander, who has only been six weeks in Europe. I met 
her at Baden. She speaks nothing but Tahitian, and her 
figure is perfect. I understand also that she is most beauti- 
fully tattooed.” 

“ With a fish-bone through her nose, of course,” laughed 
Vandeleur. “ Count, I make you my compliments. I do 
believe if a female gorilla were to drive through the Bois de 
Boulogne in a maihphaeton, a dozen of you would be in love 
with her before dinner-time. Was there any fun at Baden, 
and had you any luck? ” 

“ I never got into one good ‘ serie ’ the whole fortnight,” 
answered Tourbillon. “ There was a run on the Bed the 
only evening I didn’t play, and an Englishman won a heavy 
stake. For company, there were Kussians, of course, and 
a few of our old friends, but not so many as last year. It 
soon ceased to be amusing, and then I came away.” 

They were nearing Homburg now, and had already entered 
the long straight avenue of poplars that leads from the pine 
forest to the town. Tourbillon was still musing on the 
Trent e et-Quarante. 

That Englishman had a good system,” he observed, 
thoughtfully. “It was better than mine. We came 
together by the railroad yesterday, and he explained it 
to me in detail. I think I shall try it this evening.” 

“ What Englishman? ” asked Vandeleur, who had for- 
gotten all about his companion’s losses at Baden-Baden, 
and was meditating, in truth, on Norah, and her prescribed 
glasses of water. 

“Enslee was his name — Enslee,” replied Tourbillon; 
“ you must know him, I think. He is quite young; what 
you call ‘ nice boy.’ He is a gentleman, I am sure, and has 
a pretty wife. She plays too, but it is a woman’s game. 
Feeble, yet "bold, in the wrong time. She will never make 
the bank leap at Kouge-et-Noir, though her style might be 
dangerous enough for the Eoulette.” 

“ Enslee,” repeated Vandeleur. “ Enslee ! No ; I can’t 
remember anybody of that name.” 

“ I shall show her to you ! ” exclaimed Tourbillon exult- 
ingly. “ You will give me credit for my taste. A bright, 
fresh-coloured woman, not very tall, with a perfectly rounded 
figure. I tell you, my friend, her shape is a model. She 


BETBIBUTION 


169 


has beautiful black hair and eyes, but her complexion is as 
red and white as if she were a blonde. When she enters a 
society she seems to sparkle like a jewel. Let us see. She 
is not a pearl nor a diamond — no, she is not grande dame 
enough. She is a ruby — a brilliant, beautiful ruby. I will 
present you this evening. I know them both well. Ah ! I 
turn down here for the Quatre Saisons. Au revoir, mon 
cher ! One moment ! I remember now. Enslee addresses 
her as Fanchon, — what you call Fanni ! ” 

Vandeleur turned to go to his lodgings, the most beauti- 
fully furnished and the best situated in the whole town. 
Before he reached the door it all flashed upon him at 
once. 

“ Enslee ! Fanni ! ” said he. “Of course it is ! Good 
heavens ! who would have thought of their turning up here ? 
Gerard Ainslie, her old love — my Norah’s old love. No, 
I’m not tired of life yet ; and I’m not going to he fool 
enough, Mr. Ainslie, to give you a clear stage before you’re 
ruined, an event that in the common course of nature 
cannot he far distant. The match isn’t over, isn’t it? 
Well, we shall see who can hold out longest. The old one 
isn’t heat yet. Though she mayn’t love me, I don’t think 
she can still love you. My darling, there is a chance even 
now ; and if I could but win, you would save me, body and 
soul ! ” 

So he went up to dress without presenting himself before 
his wife, heated and dusty after walking, hut his face fell 
sadly while he looked in the glass and thought of the odds 
against him, in the battle he had resolved to fight out with 
all his heart and soul. 


CHAPTER XXII 


FRENCH LESSONS 

All women improve in appearance after marriage. With 
ourselves the effect of that valuable institution is precisely 
the reverse. I have a friend who boasts he can distinguish 
the married men from the single in any strange society he 
enters. Nay, he even goes so far as to assert that he knows 
a married man’s umbrella in the hall of a club. My friend 
is a bachelor, and I think he is a little hard upon those 
who have shown a more adventurous spirit than his own. 
Nevertheless there can be no doubt that the husband thrives 
less obviously in a domesticated state than the wife. 
Fanny Draper had been a very pretty girl, no doubt, when 
she broke the hearts of her rustic admirers about Ripley, 
and even attracted the baneful notice of the Squire at Oak- 
over ; but she was no more to be compared to the Mrs. 
Ainslie who had spent six weeks in Paris and a month at 
Baden-Baden, than the Cinderella in the chimney-corner to 
the glittering Princess of the glass slippers, who leaves the 
ball at midnight, having dazzled society with her splendour 
and magnificence. Unmarried, she had been but the crystal 
picked up, dim and rugged, from the beach. Married, 
she was the same crystal cut and polished, set by the 
jeweller, transformed into a flashing gem. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ainslie now occupied a very commodious 
apartment ‘‘of four pieces,” as it was termed by the half- 
French, half-German landlady who let it them, in a cheer- 
ful street not far removed from the Km'saal, and other 
attractions of pleasant, idle, wicked, good-for-nothing 
Homburg. They had now been married — well, long enough 


FRENCH LESSONS 


171 


to be, perhaps, a little tired of it. Tired of it, that is to 
say, under the conditions of a narrow income, dwindling 
gradually to nothing at all ; an utter dissimilarity of tastes, 
opinions, pursuits, ideas, and inclinations ; a strong though 
unacknowledged sentiment of disappointment on both sides, 
and the daily inconveniences attending that mode of exist- 
ence which is called “ living by one’s wits.” 

Fanny, indeed, was at first over head and ears in love. 
It is but justice to say that with a very little encouragement 
she would have continued so. Gerard, on the other hand, 
had sacrificed himself, as he felt twenty times a day, to a 
morbid feeling of pique and disappointment, acting on a 
weakened state of bodily health, exposed to the seductions 
of a careful, loving nurse, and the fire of a pair of dark 
eyes, that softened and glistened whenever they looked in 
his face. He had given way in a moment of tenderness, 
without reflection, and behold him tied for life ! “ Till 

death do us part.” These were the words he had repeated 
so lightly, and hour by hour he became more alive to their 
terrible significance. He had never expected it to answer, 
and it never did. In the first place, the only relative he 
possessed, his great-uncle, was furious, as the nephew 
knew he would be, and withdrew his countenance at once. 
The few friends on whom this young husband thought he 
could count, soon showed him the fallacy of such calcula- 
tions. One had lost a “ cracker,” and could hardly pay his 
own debts. Another was on the eve of making the same 
application to the petitioner. A third had promised his 
grandmother never to back a bill, and owed it to himself 
not to lend ready money. Everybody seemed, by some 
fatality, to be living at the same address in Short Street — 
a locality, hy the way, in which some of our pleasantest 
acquaintances inhabit the highest numbers. Gerard had 
nothing to depend on but his little capital and his com- 
mission. The first he soon exhausted, and the second 
he unwillingly sold. On its proceeds he was now leading 
the unsatisfactory, desultory life of an adventurer who tries 
to remain a gentleman. Of course, he went abroad. 
Equally, of course, with no career before him, no profes- 
sion, no fixed pursuits to employ the force and energies of 
youth, he became a gambler, and for a time had little reason 


172 


THE WHITE ROSE 


to complain of Fortune. He was what is termed a good 
player by those who are illogical and superstitious enough 
to believe that there can exist any element of skill in 
Roulette, Rouge-et-Noir, and such games as are avowedly 
and essentially ventures of pure chance. He would abstain 
from soliciting Fortune when she seemed coy, but if she 
smiled, would never hesitate to confide himself blindly and 
recklessly to her care. At Baden-Baden the goddess had 
treated him like a spoilt child, and when he came on to 
Homburg he found himself possessed of all the necessaries, 
and many luxuries, of life, including a new dress or two 
for Fanny, besides a goodly sum of ready money in rouleaux, 
and honest billets de banque for himself. 

These, it is needless to observe, he kept in store for 
possible reverses. None of us ever knew a gambler lay by 
his winnings, or in any way convert them into real property. 
It would seem that by some inscrutable law of nature no 
sooner does a piece of gold touch the green cloth of a 
gaming-table than it becomes a mere counter, and a mere 
counter it remains till it finds its way back to the croupier’s 
rake, and is absorbed by the hank once more. A man who 
plays every day of his life, however, is sure not to be with- 
out good clothes, clean gloves, and such outward appliances 
of prosperity as demand only a supply of pocket-money. 
Gerard, in his pleasant lodgings opposite the Kursaal, 
dressed, hatted, and ready to go out, looked very handsome, 
and very like a gentleman, although a keen observer might 
already have detected faint traces of those lines about his 
lips which only constant, unremitting anxiety scores on so 
young a face. Fanny glanced admiringly at her husband 
as he put a cigar in his mouth, and reviewed his comely 
person in the glass between the windows. 

“ Going out so soon, dear?” said she, laying down the 
French novel she had been pouring over assiduously, with a 
dictionary in her lap. “ Why it’s too early for the tables 
yet. You know you never have any luck before three 
o’clock.” 

“Early!” repeated Gerard; “the time must pass 
quicker with you than it does with me. I thought it was 
nearly dinner-time till I heard that tiresome brass band 
strike up with its eternal ‘ Goldbreckel ’ gallop. You’ve 


PiiENCH LESSONS 


173 


got an amusing book, Fan ; you’re in luck. I wish I could 
find anything that amused me.” 

She looked quickly up at him, but the careless tone hurt 
less than it would have done six months ago, because under 
repeated knocks the heart must harden if it does not break. 
Still there was a little tremble in her voice while she 
replied — 

“ The time passes with me, Gerard, not because I am 
happy, but because I am employed. If I didn’t work hard, 
how could I ever expect to speak French as well as I ought 
to do in my position as your wife ? ’ ’ 

“ Not happy ! ” repeated Gerard, for although he did not 
love her, he was sufficiently a man to feel aggrieved. 
‘‘Thank you, Fanny ! And yet I don’t know why you 
should be happy. Our life has been a sad mistake all 
through. I Imew it from the first, and you are beginning 
to find it out now.” 

“ You have no right to say so ! ” she exclaimed, with 
the colour rising in her cheek, and her eyes flashing. “ I 
know perfectly well how much you gave up to marry me. 
I have been reminded of it often enough ; — no ! not in 
words, Gerard ; you have always been a gentleman, I will 
say that. Perhaps that was why I used to he so fond of you. 
But in tone, in manner, in a thousand little things a 
woman finds out too soon, even though she isn’t a lady 
born! But I’ve tried hard, Gerard, hard — no, I’m not 
going to cry — to be good enough for you. Why, I could 
scarcely sign my name, not properly, when I knew you first ; 
and now there isn’t a duchess or a countess as widtes — I 
mean no lady in the land can write a better hand than 
mine. The same with grammar, the same with music, the 
same with French, though some of the words does — do 
come very hard to remember when you want ’em. No, 
dear, I’m not a lady, I know, hut I’m trying my best to be 
one ; and a woman’s whole heart is worth something after 
all, though she is only a miller’s daughter, as you’ll find 
out one of these days when it’s too late! ” 

“ I don’t want to find out anything but a good system for 
the Trente-et-Quarante,'’ answ^ered he, a little pettishly. 
“ I’ve made too many discoveries in my time, and one of 
them is ” Gerard stopped himself, for it was not his 


174 


THE WHITE BOSE 


nature to be ungenerous, and he felt ashamed to utter the 
sentiment that quivered on his lip. 

“ Is what ? ” repeated Mrs. Ainslie, looking very resolute 
and handsome, with a burning colour fixed in her cheek. 
“ Let us have it out, Gerard. I’ve strong nerves. If I’m 
not a lady, I’ve that at least to be thankful for, and I’m 
not afraid to hear the truth. Nor if I were a man should I 
be afraid to speak it, as you are ! ” 

The taunt brought it out, though he repented a moment 
afterwards. 

“ Is this ! ” said he, settling his collar in the glass. 
‘‘ That a man is a fool to marry before he knows his own 

mind ; but a man is a d d fool who does know his 

own mind, and marries the wrong woman with his eyes 
open.” 

She never answered a word. His heart smote him, as 
well it might, the moment he had delivered this unmanly 
thrust ; and if she had burst into tears and thrown herself 
upon his breast, who knows ? Perhaps everything would 
have turned out differently. She bent over the dictionary 
instead, and hunted earnestly, as it seemed, for some 
crabbed French word. It must have been a minute or two 
before she looked up, and her face was bright, her voice 
gay, though there was a hard metallic ring in it, while she 
observed — 

“ ‘ Pieuvre ! ” what can ‘ pieuvre ’ mean in a sentence 
like this? Can you explain it, Gerard? I shall never 
make sense of it. I must wait for the Count ; he promised 
to come in and give me a lesson this afternoon.” 

Gerard sneered. 

“ Tourbillon ought to be a good French master,” said 
he, moving towards the door. “ He must have brought a 
good many pupils to perfection, if all they say about him is 
true.” 

“ At least he is too kind and patient,” she answered 
bitterly, to despise a woman for being ignorant, and 
working her heart out trying to learn.” 

But it is doubtful if Gerard heard her. He was half-way 
down-stairs by this time, meditating I think less upon 
Count Tourbillon’s proficiency in female tuition, than his 
own lately invented system of backing coulewr at certain 


FRENCH LESSONS 


176 


numerical intervals, while pursuing a regular course of 
play on the black and the red. It may perhaps be 
necessary to explain, for the benefit of those who are too 
wise to affect such games of chance, that Rouge and Noir 
are simply arbitrary terms expressing really the respective 
amount of “ pips ” on two lines of cards, the upper of 
which is dealt invariably for black, the lower for red. 
Whichever line (amounting, when summed up, to less than 
forty,) counts nearest thirty-one, is considered to win, 
irrespective, except for those who are backing couleur 
(which involves a different speculation altogether), of the 
actual hue of the cards thus dealt. 

Fanny watched her husband walk across the street, with 
a strange wistful expression on her handsome face. When 
he had disappeared, without once looking back, through 
the portals of the Kursaal, she rose and went to the glass. 
Here she stood for several minutes perusing every feature 
with unusual attention, till a well-known step on the stairs 
disturbed her self-examination, and she sat down again 
with her French novel and her dictionary, smiling a 
peculiar smile that seemed to denote some fixed purpose 
finally adopted, rather than amusement, happiness, or 
peace of mind. 

Entrez ! ” said she, with a clear pleasant voice, and a 
very fair French accent, in reply to the knock at her 
chamber-door; and Count Tourbillon made his appearance, 
no longer in the nankeen jacket of morning deshabille, but 
dressed in perfect taste, and with as much care as if turned 
out for Hyde Park or the Bois de Boulogne in the height 
of the season. 

The Count knew he was good-looking, but was wise 
enough not to trust his good looks alone for ascendency 
over women. He had seen how fatal it is for an admirer 
to betray that he is thinking more of himself than his 
companion, and the ugliest man alive might have taken a 
lesson from Tourbillon in the self-forgetfulness he assumed 
when there was a lady in the room. He guessed Mrs. 
Ainslie was not bom in the upper ranks, therefore an 
experienced tact told him his manner should he deferential 
in the extreme. He saw she was unaccustomed to extrava- 
gance, therefore he dressed more sumptuously than usual ; 


176 


THE WHITE BOSE 


and assuming that she must he neglected by her husband, 
tout simplement, as he told himself, because he teas a 
husband, argued that constant attention, and ardent 
attachment, implied rather than declared, could not fail to 
bring this pretty and attractive woman to his feet. 

“And how goes on the French? ” said the Count, after 
a few common-place salutations, compliments on Mrs. 
Enslee's good looks, and the usual news of the morning at 
the watering-place. “ Ah ! madame, you should return to 
Paris, where you made so short a stay. You are more than 
half a Frenchwoman now, in dress, in tournure, in refine- 
ment of speech and manner, A month in the capital would 
make you simply perfect. With your appearance, with 
your energy, with your force of character, a woman is 
capable of everything amongst us. You are wasted in such 
a place as this. You are indeed.” 

He sat a long way off; he held his hat in his hand. 
Nothing could be more frank, more friendly, more respect- 
ful, than his tone and bearing. 

“ I like Paris well enough. Monsieur le Comte,” answered 
Fanny, “but after all, what am I there? I have no rank, 
no fortune, no position. My husband is not likely to make 
me one. I should be quite lost and trodden down in that 
great world of which we so often speak.” 

“What are you?” said the Count, with admirably 
repressed rapture. “ You are an Englishwoman. Forgive 
me, madame. A beautiful, an intelligent, may I not say 
an enterprising Englishwoman ? Such characters make a 
perfect ^ fury ’ in French society. And you know what we 
are — you know the success that a woman may have in our 
world if only she is launched under favourable auspices, and 
will play her own game, without suffering others to over- 
look her hand. I do assure you, madame, that if I were in 
your place (with your face and figure, hien entendu), in six 
weeks I would have the whole of Paris at my feet.” 

Did it cross her mind that Gerard had never appreciated 
her like this ; that perhaps he might be taught her value 
by the example of others — perhaps love her better when he 
had lost her altogether, and it was too late ; that this man, 
older, more experienced, moving in a far higher grade than 
her husband, rated her as she deserved ; that he would not 


FBENCH LESSONS 


177 


have left her with a bitter taunt on his lip, and walked 
wearily off to the play-tables in order to escape from her 
society ? She was a woman, and such thoughts as these 
probably did cross her mind. She was a woman, and they 
probably did not pass away without leaving indelible traces 
behind. 

‘‘ I should like it,” she said, after a long pause of medi- 
tation, during which the Count thought her face the 
prettiest he had ever seen. ‘‘I should like it, but it’s 
impossible. You know how we are circumstanced. You 
see how we live. We make no secrets with you. We do 
not look upon you as a stranger. We consider you a real 
friend.” 

Tourbillon bowed, and his how expressed gratitude, 
homage, cordiality, even amusement. 

‘‘ What you like, madame,” heYeplied ; ‘‘ what you wish; 
rather I should say, what you willf is sure to come to pass. 
It is such women as yourself, if you only knew it, who 
govern the world. You are kind enough to believe me a 
friend. I am a devoted friend, and one whom you may 
command at any time, and for any service. You — you 
little know all I would do for you, if I might only have the 
chance ! And now how gets on the French ? I may well 
be proud of my pupil. If you go on as you have begun, in 
six months you will speak as well as I do.” 

Count Tourbillon knew better than most men when to 
make running, and when to lie by patiently and wait. He 
had risked as much as was prudent for the present, and it 
would be wise now to content himself with affording amuse- 
ment, well aware that when he had taken leave she would 
revolve the whole interview in her mind, and interest must 
follow in good time. The Count had determined to win 
the affections of this pretty Englishwoman, who no doubt 
seemed more attractive to him than she would have been to 
an admirer of her own nation in an equally high rank of 
life. Many little shortcomings of expression and manner 
that shocked and even disgusted Gerard Ainslie, utterly 
escaped the Frenchman, whose own countrywomen, by the 
way, are not quite so refined in the boudoir y as in the salon, 
Tourbillon, I say, had determined to succeed, and perhaps 
over-rated the difficulties in his path. Gerard, with 

12 


178 


THE WHITE BOSE 


blighted prospects, reckless habits, and a preoccupied 
heart, was no match for the cold, calculating Parisian, 
armed with the experience of a hundred similar affairs. 

Even at the disadvantage of his fifteen years or so, John 
Vandeleur would have proved a far more equal adversary, 
had the Count taken it into his head to fancy himself in 
love with proud impassive Norah. 

But they were all at cross purposes in this untoward 
little party at Homburg, and resembled pots of iron and 
porcelain vases hurtling together down the stream. Borne 
on the same waters, whirling in the same eddies, floating 
in the same direction, still the softest material is ever that 
which suffers most. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

‘‘SUIVRE LA GAGNANTB ” 

Let us follow Gerard Ainslie into the plain, square, class- 
ical-looking building which constitutes the very heart and 
citadel, as it were, of the sort of town he now likes best to 
frequent, the shrine at which he seeks his oracles, the 
temple, alas ! in which he elects to worship that false god- 
dess, greater here than was ever Diana with the Ephesians, 
who demands from her votaries gold, affections, honour, self- 
respect, nay, is not to he satisfied at last, perhaps, unless 
they seal their devotion with their blood. 

But the temple is very comfortable and well-arranged 
nevertheless. In it are found reading-rooms, ball-rooms, 
smoking-rooms, music-rooms, and a noble suite of apart- 
ments devoted to the object for which the whole building is 
designed. It is with these that we have to do. It is to 
these Gerard bends his steps, dallying by the way, and 
turning often aside in the leisurely manner in which your 
confirmed gambler always gets to work. He is too anxious 
ever to seem anxious. So he wipes his feet carefully on the 
mat, though the varnished boots show not a speck of 
mud, removes his hat, lingers a moment in the reading- 
room adorned by an old French gentleman with a belly, a 
snuff-box, a white waistcoat, and a black wig, sitting as far 
as possible from a German lady of a certain age, in spectacles, 
dirty hands, and a brown silk dress, glancing at a grotesque 
caricature in the Charivari^ a column of Galignani, turned 
upside down, and so passes out again, much edified, by a 

179 


180 


THE WHITE BOSE 


door that opens on one of the rooms appropriated to 
roulette. 

Here he salutes with grave politeness two cosmopolitan 
ladies whose acquaintance he has made at Baden-Baden, 
correct in manner, quiet in deportment, though dressed in 
a style that is, to say the least of it, startling, and with 
countenances denoting that they have not experienced what 
they themselves call “ honhem aujeu.*' 

From these, he edges his way to the nearest of the 
play-tahles, the outer circle, so to speak, in that Pande- 
monium, of which he will presently penetrate to the very 
centre. 

Now in an English hot-house we have often had occasion 
to observe that the head-gardener, usually an impracticable 
Scotchman of considerable pretensions, lead us by cautious 
degrees from one forcing-house to another, each of a higher 
temperature than its predecessor, till we reach a stifling 
atmosphere, that makes egress into the chill winter’s after- 
noon a delightful luxury. Also, in the Turkish hath, a 
preparation which perhaps even more than the English hot- 
house affords to the lost and reprobate a foretaste of their 
eventual destination we are ushered at first into an oven, in 
which identity is simply an unbearable burden, before we 
are subjected to such a furnace as renders existence an in- 
sufferable torture. So, I say, in a German gambling 
establishment, the metaphorical caloric of high play in- 
creases by regular gradations as we get further in. People 
who risk a florin or two at a time content themselves with 
dallying at roulette ; those who are not satisfied unless they 
can count their gains in gold, affect one or other of the 
tables at which trente-et-quarante, sometimes called rouge- 
et-noir, is played for such moderate stakes as a couple of 
double-Frederics or a few napoleons at a venture, while the 
real gambler, the player with whom winning or losing 
means simply wealth or ruin, there is yet another table in 
another room distinguished for the silent attention and 
grave air of business pervading it, in which alone are heard 
such pithy sentences as these: — “Bouge gagne ! Couleur 
perd ! ” “Pardon, M’sieur. Quatre rouleaux. C’est 
juste!” “Deux cent louis a la masse!” “Tout a la 
masse ! ” “ Messieurs, le jeu est fait ! ” 


SUIVBE LA GAGNANTE 


181 


The men and women, too, who walk out of this room 
always seem to he looking at something in the extreme 
distance, far beyond the walls of the Kursaal, far beyond 
the sky-line of the Taunus, far beyond the confines of the 
Fatherland, and the glittering windings of its beautiful 
beloved Rhine. 

Gerard’s temper, though he would have scorned to admit 
it, was a little rufiled by his own impatience with Fanny. 
He did not feel in cue to play ; had not that confidence in 
himself which often indeed deceives a gambler, but without 
which no man, I imagine, ever yet rose up the winner of a 
great stake. So he stood at the roulette-table, and amused 
himself by losing a good many napoleons in fruitless experi- 
ment on the figures, the zero, the columns, the middle 
numbers, every possible combination by which Fortune 
tries to juggle her votary into the belief that he is 
not simply tossing up heads-and-tails with the certainty 
that one in every thirty-six hazards must be against the 
player. 

“ A Martingale, hedad ! that ’ud break the hank of Eng- 
land ! ” said an Irish major standing behind, and watching 
Gerard back his losses systematically, with an admiration 
of his fortitude no whit damped by its ill-success. 

A pretty little Frenchwoman who had waged her solitary 
venture of a couple of florins on the number she dreamed 
that morning, and lost, shot sympathising glances out of 
her velvety black eyes, as she withdrew to the sofa by the 
wall, where she had left her companion, and observed to 
the latter, ** II est beau joueur, ce Monsieur la. Tiens, c’est 
dommage. Figurez-vous, Caroline. II a double cinq fois 
de suite!” and Caroline, twice the age, not half so pretty, 
and on whom Gerard’s good looks and dark eyes made no 
impression whatever, contented herself with a dissatisfied 
grunt in reply, and an utter condemnation of the whole pro- 
cess, room, table, croupier, players, and game. 

It was one of her florins the other had risked according 
to their compact. These two mustered something like a 
Napoleon and a half per week between them. On that 
modest sum they lodged, ate, drank, amused themselves, 
and even dressed becomingly. From it they scraped enough 
for their daily venture, taken in turn, at the roulette-table. 


182 


THE WHITE BOSE 


If they wonj a little compote, or some such inexpensive 
luxury, was added to the daily fare, and they would treat 
themselves to tickets for the concert in the evening. If 
they lost — ^Well ! it had to be made up somehow. There 
would be no concert, of course, and perhaps they must 
content themselves with a glass of eau sucree for dinner. 
And this is how people live at Homburg. 

Gerard felt he was wasting time, so, bowing to two or 
three more acquaintances of Baden-Baden, he proceeded at 
once to another table where the trente-et-quarante was 
languishing temporarily for want of worshippers. Its 
croupier motioned with his rake to a vacant seat, hut the 
Englishman preferred taking his stand behind a grizzled 
Swedish colonel, watching the tactics of that warrior, and 
his inimitable patience under the losses they entailed. 
The Swede, consulting from time to time a little card at 
his elbow, on which he marked the variations of the game 
with a pin, played obviously on some complicated system of 
his own, to which, undeterred by continuous failure, he scru- 
pulously adhered. It was provoking to observe a volatile 
old lady opposite, with a Jewish face and bony knuckles in 
thread mittens, raking her gold pieces about here and there 
across the table, at the instigation of the wildest caprice, 
yet invariably doubling her stake, while the painstaking 
colonel as invariably lost his own ; but it seemed to affect 
the latter not the least. He would only drum with his thin 
white fingers on the green cloth, arrange the bank-notes 
and gold remaining by his side, and put down the same 
stake in the same place, to be swept off in the same way as 
the rest. 

Two or three non-playing spectators, and an Englishman 
with twenty thousand a year, who put a sovereign nervously 
down every now and then, but changed his mind and took 
it up before the game was closed, were the only other 
occupants of the table. Gerard kept silent for two deals, 
intently watching the cards ; then he observed quietly to the 
croupier, ‘‘ Cent louis — Eouge.” 

It was a larger sum than the usual stakes at that par- 
ticular table, but the croupier of course imperturbably 
pushed Gerard’s two rouleaux to the place indicated, and in 
a minute’s time the monotonous declaration, “ Trente deux. 


SUIVBE LA GAGNANTE 


183 


Kouge gagne ! ” increased them by the same amount. 
He left the whole untouched for the next deal, and again red 
was the winner. Gerard had now a sum of four hundred 
napoleons on the table. 

‘‘A la masse?” inquired the croupier, observing no 
indication on the part of the player to withdraw or modify 
his stake. 

‘‘ A la masse ! ” repeated the Englishman calmly. Black 
stopped at thirty three, and the whole came into pos- 
session of the hank. 

‘‘ Encore un coup ! ” said Gerard, smiling. “ Cinq cent 
lords — ^Noir ! ” 

Unfortunately the cards seemed inclined to see-saw. 
The old Jewess had just pushed her venture across the 
table. Red won, and Gerard lost nearly five hundred 
pounds. 

This won’t do,” muttered the unsuccessful player in 
English. Business is business. It serves me right for 
not getting to work in proper form.” 

Thus speaking, he entered the inner room, took a chair 
by the dealer, pushed a bill across the table, in return for 
which he was supplied with a quantity of bank-notes and 
gold, neatly done up in rouleaiuc. These represented his 
winnings at Baden-Baden, and indeed constituted his whole 
capital. Piling them systematically at his elbow, he took 
a card and a pin, glanced round as though to observe the 
calibre of his associates against the common enemy, and so 
cleared boldly for action. 

The others took little notice of him. They consisted 
of a Russian princess losing heavily behind a broad green 
fan ; an English peer throwing the second fortune he had 
inherited after the first with perfect good-humour and 
sang-froid ; two or three swindlers on a grand scale, not 
yet found out; and a dirty little man, of no particular 
nation, whose hat and cane were held by a tawdry, over- 
dressed, hard-featured, shrill-voiced Greek woman, and who 
was winning enormously with the air of being used to it. 
Indeed, if there is any truth in a well-known proverb and 
its converse, he looked as if he ought to be extremely 
successful at all games of chance. 

It is needless to follow Gerard through the various ups 


184 


THE WHITE BOSE 


and downs of an hour’s play. At the end of forty minutes 
he was nearly cleaned out; the black, which it was his 
habit to hack, winning more rarely than common. A 
happy inspiration then induced him to place a rouleau on 
the red. It came up — he left it there. Again ! again ! still 
his stake went on doubling itself. 

He believed he had got into what gamblers call a serie^ 
and he made a little mental vow that if he could win six 
times running he would march off with his plunder, cut the 
whole thing, and return to England. 

With considerable fortitude he left his increasing stake 
untouched. The fifth time the red came up, his winnings 
amounted to sixteen hundred napoleons. To trust his luck 
successfully once more would be to land between two and 
three thousand pounds ; and now, had Gerard proved him- 
self a thorough gambler, his venture would have been 
crowned with success. 

A thorough gambler has but two interests in the world — 
himself and his stake. These fill his whole heart, and 
there is no room for anything else. Who ever heard of 
his being influenced by such weakness as the perfume of a 
flower, the melody of a strain, or the sound of a once-loved 
voice ? 

Alas for Gerard ! that old Lady Baker, drinking the 
waters at Homhurg because her skin was growing yellow 
as a duck’s bill, should have taken this particular oppor- 
tunity of satisfying her thirst for general information, by 
entering the room in which the highest play in Europe 
was said to be carried on, and should have brought a 
companion with her — a pale, handsome, listless com- 
panion, on whom even her ladyship’s losses at roulette 
— “ Two double-Frederics, my dear, and the same yester- 
day ; I shall he in the Bench if ever I reach home ! ” — 
made no impression ; who was not even interested in the 
ball last night, the concert this evening, nor the balloon 
going up to-morrow ; who little imagined she cared for any- 
thing at Homhurg, except the railway carriage that would 
take her away, or that Gerard Ainslie was sitting within 
six feet of her, hidden by two stout German barons who 
stood behind his chair. 

Lady Baker penetrated but a little way into the gambling- 


SUIVBE LA GAGNANTE^^ 


185 


room. She had scarcely got her eye-glasses in position when 
the other pulled her hack. 

“It’s very hot here,” observed Mrs. Vandeleur ; “ and 
I detest the whole thing. Let us go out on the terrace.” 
And the two ladies swept through a glass door into the 
open air. 

It was a short sentence, but the full, low, characteristic 
tones leaped straight to Gerard’s heart. With the start 
of a man who is shot, he rose to his feet, much to the 
astonishment of the imperturbable croupier over against 
him, hut he forced himself to sit down again, though 
mechanically, like one in a dream. Mechanically, too, 
he pushed the whole of his large stake across the table 
into the compartment allotted to the other colour, and then 
watched the deal with open mouth and strange stupefied 
gaze. Black tried hard to win, for the numbers came up 
thirty-two, and even from those fire-proof players rose the 
hushed stir and murmur of intense excitement; hut the 
run was destined to continue yet once more, and the 
lower line of cards dealt for red stopped exactly at thirty- 
one ! 

Had it been otherwise, Gerard’s inconsistent play would 
have been lauded for a master-stroke of strategy. As it 
turned out, the Kussian princess, whose faith had been 
less unstable, simply muttered, “ C’est un imbecile ! ” as 
she raked her own winnings together, with a contemp- 
tuous smile. 

Gerard did not lack presence of mind ; few men do who 
have led, even for a few months, such a life as his ; and in 
less than a minute he had reflected calmly, not only on his 
own bad play, hut on the absurdity of rushing out after 
Mrs. Vandeleur then and there, which had been his first 
impulse, when he might be quite sure of finding her, as 
anybody may be quite sure of finding anybody else in 
Homhurg, at five or six different gatherings during the 
day. Therefore he collected his thoughts, counted the 
remnants of his capital, and summoned all his energies 
to retrieve his failure. 

But Fortune is a jealous mistress, brooking no rival, and, 
above all, intolerant of such an insult as Gerard’s last in- 
constancy. 


186 


THE WHITE BOSE 


In a quarter of an hour he walked out on the peiTOTiy 
amongst blooming flowers and laughing children, without 
a florin left, to all intents and purposes an utterly ruined 
man. 


CHAPTEK XXIV 


THE WOMAN HE LOVED 

And it was not yet dinner-time! The whole thing had 
been done in less than an hour and a quarter I He was at 
his wits’ end, no doubt. He had never before experienced 
anything like such “ a facer ” as this. And the worst part 
of it was that he must go back and tell Fanny the truth — 
tell her they had not a shilling left — tell her that unless 
she happened to find some loose change in her pocket, they 
could not even pay for their dinner at the table d’htoe. 
And yet will it be believed that a single drop could sweeten 
the whole of this bitter cup? — the mere chance, the 
possibility of seeing and speaking to Norah just once 
again ! 

He sought her in vain along the perron, up and down 
the terraces, round and round the gardens. Scores of 
handsome, well-dressed women were strolling and loiter- 
ing about, but Mrs. Vandeleur had gone home and was 
nowhere to be seen. This disappointment vexed him far 
more than his losses. He even found himself wondering 
with the wonder of some one else, as it seems to a man 
under strong excitement, that he should accept ruin so 
calmly, that everything real and tangible should thus 
count as nothing compared to a lost, hopeless, impossible 
love 1 

It was an ill-omened frame of mind in which to return 
home and consult his wife on what they should do next. 
No wonder the German servant he met in the passage, 
looking after him, shook her flaxen head, scared by the 
pale face and impatient gestures of the English Herr, 

187 


188 


THE WHITE BOSE 


usually so bright, and cordial, and kind. No wonder 
Fanny, still radiant from Tourbillon’s undeclared admira- 
tion, felt a presentiment of what was coming when Gerard 
entered their sitting-room with a bounce, and threw him- 
self morosely, still gloved and hatted, into an armchair. 

That d d Frenchman’s been here again ! ” was the 

remark with which he opened the conversation. ‘‘ The 
place smells like a hair-dresser’s shop ! ” 

It was a vanity of Tourbillon’s to affect some sweet and 
rare perfume of which the fragrance remained long after he 
had departed. Music, flowers, song, scent, and sentiment 
— all these were weapons of which he made judicious use 
at the proper time. 

The Count has been here,” answered Fanny, pre- 
paring for battle. ‘‘ You needn’t swear, Gerard, all the 
same.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” he replied, bitterly. ‘‘ You never 
were used to coarse language — never heard it, I should 
think, till you married me. It don’t much matter now. 
You must be told the truth, and there’s no time to pick 
and choose words, when the whole game is up ! ” 

She was going to retort angrily, but something in his 
face stopped her. 

“What truth? — what game?” said she, with clasped 
hands and anxious eyes. “What is it, Gerard? Tell 
me, dear. You’re ill, I’m sure — or — or, you’ve lost more 
than you can pay ? ” 

“A man can’t well do that here ! ” he answered, with a 
grim smile. “ Ready money seems to be the word with 
these foreigners, when you’ve got it. When you haven’t, 
it’s go to the devil whichever way you like, only don’t be 
long about it ! That’s what I had best do. Fan. Look 
you here. It has come at last, and I haven’t a shilling 
left in the world.” 

He hardened his face to meet the reproaches he ex- 
pected, standing up and squaring his shoulders, with his 
hands in his pockets. It put him out of his calculations 
altogether, that she should run to him, and throw her 
arms round his neck. 

“I don’t care,” she sobbed, forgetting all her lady’s 
language and good grammar. “I don’t care — I don’t 


THE WOMAN HE LOVED 


189 


care no more nor nothing ! Never heed it, deary, — ^never 
fear ! I’ll work my fingers for you to the bone, I will ! 
Only you’ll be my own now, won’t you ? My own lad, as 
you’ve never been afore.” 

He was touched, softened. He looked down into her 
eyes with tears in his own. But to be thus taken posses- 
sion of, while Norah was not two hundred yards off — and 
in such language, too ! It grated horribly. I believe if 
she had spoken good English, and left out the appropria- 
tion clause altogether, she might on this occasion have 
conquered once for all. 

“ It needn’t be quite so bad as that,” said he, putting 
her away from him gently and tenderly enough. “ If I 
could get back to England, something surely might be 
done. But how to clear out from here ! How to pay for 
the lodgings and be allowed to leave the country, that is 
what puzzles me ! Oh ! what a fool I have been all 
through ! ” 

That last sentence changed the whole current of her 
feelings. He had not met her as she wished. Her heart 
was getting sore again, and hardening every moment. 
She took her bonnet (such a sweet little bonnet, with 
one red rose at the side !) out of its drawer, and 
began to tie it on with trembling fingers, opposite the 
glass. 

‘‘ You have been a fool, Gerard,” she muttered. ‘‘ Never 
a bigger fool than to-day ! Ah ! you’ve lost a deal more 
than money or money’s worth, only you don’t know it ! ” 
Then she turned on him with a fixed, resolute face, and 
said quite calmly — 

I’m going out for half an hour, Mr. Ainslie. I think, 
perhaps, I can be of service to you. Please hand me that 
parasol.” 

“Where are you going?” he asked, carelessly; “isn’t 
it near dinner-time ? ” 

She smiled — a hard, pitiless smile, that seemed to spare 
neither herself nor him. 

“ I am going to get you what you want,” she answered. 
“I can’t promise, but I fancy I can bring you back the 
best part of a hundred pounds.” 

“You are going to ask your Frenchman for it, I suppose,” 


190 


THE WHITE BOSE 


said he, with a sneer. “ Mrs. Ainslie, I’ve stood a good 
deal, but I will not stand that.” 

The hard smile deepened on her face. 

“ I am not going to ask my Frenchman, as you call him, 
for a shilling! ” was her reply. When the time comes, 
perhaps his answer to such a request will he a kinder one 
than I’ve ever had from you I ” and looking straight in his 
face while she delivered this parting shot, the miller’s 
daughter sailed out of the room like a queen. 

Women certainly make themselves acquainted far more 
rapidly than men with the details of ‘‘ the world they live 
in.” How could Fanny have learned that the Vandeleurs 
were at Homburg? How could she be sure of meeting 
Mrs. Vandeleur on her way from the Louisen-Briinnen at 
this particular hour ? Sawdor had certainly transferred his 
patient to Von Saufen-Kelch, ' and Von Saufen-Kelch’s 
directions was to drink a glass of this sparkling mineral 
fasting, walk gently for half an hour, and then — drink 
another I But how could Mrs. Ainslie tell that Norah would 
so scrupulously follow the honest German’s simple pre- 
scription? Whatever might he the basis of Fanny’s 
calculations, they were so correct that in less than ten 
minutes she met the very person she wanted within twenty 
paces of the spring. 

There was no mistaking that lithe, undulating figure at 
any distance off. We must be allowed a sporting simile 
sometimes — Mrs. Vandeleur looked like a racehorse amongst 
hacks in every company she frequented, in none more than 
when surrounded by the Hite of a London drawing-room. 
Now, as she was coming up the gravelled pathway, Fanny 
could not hut acknowledge the grace of that tall, slender 
figure, with its gliding, snake-like ease of movement ; the 
charm of that small, well-poised head, with its delicate 
temples, its golden chestnut hair, its pale, chiselled features, 
and deep, dark, melancholy eyes. 

As the women met each other, face to face, Mrs. Ainslie 
had the advantage of being prepared for the encounter; 
Norah, on the contrary, was exceedingly startled and 
disturbed. 

She had not seen Fanny since their well-remembered 
interview in the Rectory garden. She had thought of her 


THE WOMAN HE LOVED 


191 


indeed very often, and always with mingled feelings not 
devoid of that tender, though painful interest, which a 
woman’s heart can still take in any object, even a successful 
rival, connected with the man she must no longer love. 
Being a well-conducted person, in a certain position, Mrs. 
Vandeleur’s better judgment should of course have decided 
on keeping such an adventuress as Fanny at a distance, hut 
Norah’s character possessed a little Bohemian tinge of its 
own. She was not without sympathy for a recklessness 
prompted by aifection, of which she felt herself quite 
capable under similar temptation. Though she hated Fanny 
for running away with the man they both loved, it was with 
an honest, open hatred that did not prevent admiration for 
her darling, even something akin to respect for her success. 

Altogether, if time had been given for consideration, she 
would probably have determined on meeting Mrs. Ainslie 
with the cold, formal greeting of a distant acquaintance ; 
but time was not given, for the latter came on her almost 
too quickly for recognition, and with considerable tact 
under the circumstances plunged at once in medias res. 

“ Oh ! Miss Welby, Miss Welby ! ” said Fanny in a 
broken voice, and seizing Norah’s hands in her own, “ I ask 
your pardon indeed, for I should say Mrs. Vandeleur, but 
things are so changed now with you and me. And we’re 
ruined ! — we are ! We haven’t a penny to bless ourselves 
left, and never a friend in this foreign country but yourself. 
Miss Welby, — I mean Mrs. Vandeleur ; and if you won’t 
help us, I’m sure I don’t know what to do no more than a 
child— I don’t ! I don’t ! ” 

Ruined ! ” repeated Norah, shocked, and, it must be 
admitted, utterly taken aback by so unexpected an ebullition. 
“ Ruined, Fanny ! ” (she could not quite bring herself to 
say Mrs. Ainslie). ‘‘My good girl, what do you mean? 
Has anything happened to your husband ? ” (Here her 
voice faltered a little.) “ Is it sorrow, or sickness, or what 
is it ? Of course. I’ll help you, if I can.” 

Fanny carried the shapely, well-gloved hand she held up 
to her lips. Impulsive, impressionable, a natural actress, 
she threw herself unreservedly into the sentiment of the 
moment, and if such a paradox is admissible, could be 
sincere even in her duplicity. 


192 


TEE WHITE BOSE 


“I knew you would,” she murmured, her fine eyes 
filling with real tears ; ‘‘I knew you would. I haven’t 
forgotten what a kind heart you always had. It’s money 
we want, Mrs. Vandeleur ; money to take us back to 
England. We haven’t so much as a florin left to get us a 
dinner ! ” 

The tears had come to Norah’s blue eyes, too, and for a 
moment Fanny’s heart smote her to meet so kindly a sym- 
pathy ; hut it hardened again directly with the jealousy 
that survives in such hearts, long after love is dead, for 
Norah exclaimed all unconsciously — 

“ You don’t mean that Gerard — that Mr. Ainslie is 
starving ! Gracious heavens ! and I to know nothing of 
it ! You mustn’t stay a minute ! You must go to him 
directly. Tell me at once. How much money do you 
want? ” 

Fanny reflected. “ A hundred pounds,” said she, 
“ would take us to England and set us up again. At least, 
would put us in the way of getting a livelihood.” 

A hundred pounds only!” echoed Norah, with that 
glorious contempt for a hundred pounds entertained by 
every woman who does not know what it is to live on her 
own resources, and by a good many who do. You shall 
have it directly. Come with me this instant. The idea 
of poor Gerard having no dinner for want of a hundred 
pounds ! ” 

She had forgotten all about his folly, his inconstancy, 
and even his wife, though the latter was walking by her 
side ; forgotten everything but that her Gerard, whom she 
used so to love, was starving, and she could help him I 
But could she help him ? The doubt came on her like the 
shock of a shower-bath. Mrs. Vandeleur’ s stock of ready- 
money was usually at a low ebb ; in fact, she seldom wanted 
any. The servants always had change, and Mr. Vandeleur 
paid aU her bills, to do him justice, without a murmur, 
though they were of no trifling amount, Norah being 
inclined to carelessness on such matters, — so that really 
she seldom found occasion to put her hand in her pocket. 
To-day she knew she had one florin in a ridiculous little 
porte-monnaie she insisted on carrying about, because she 
had given its fellow to the girl at the well. This was the 


THE WOMAN HE LOVED 


193 


whole of her capital. She remembered there was neither 
kreutzer, nor groschen, nor sou, nor halfpenny, nor any 
denomination of coin, foreign or British, in the jewel-case 
at home. Stay ! The jewel case ! Might not jewels help 
her out here, as effectually as gold ? She glanced down to 
her shapely arm : at its wrist dangled a bracelet, in which 
were set two or three precious stones, of undoubted value 
— a trinket, not in the best taste, but worth a good deal of 
money : one of Vandeleur’s many gifts since her marriage. 
Surely, this was the very thing. 

‘‘In here, Fanny!” she exclaimed, hurrying her com- 
panion into a flashy little shop, or rather stall, displaying 
beads, crystals, drinking-cups, views of the Taunus, rubbish 
for all tastes, and cheap jewellery of every description. 

In a moment her bracelet was dashed on the counter, and 
under inspection by a German Jew, with a dim gold ring 
on a dirty forefinger, who shook his head depreciatingly, of 
course, as he would have shaken it by instinct if requested 
to advance a hundred florins on the Koh-i-noor diamond. 

It was no novelty to this cautious speculator thus to 
examine feminine personalties. Everybody in Homburg 
passed his shop five or six times a day, and he was in the 
homdy habit of pricing all kinds of articles at one-third 
of their market-value, and even giving for them as much as 
half. A kind little man, too, in manner, and a friendly, 
notwithstanding his faith, his profession, and his grimy 
hands. 

Mrs. Vandeleur was always a little impetuous. ‘ ‘ There ! ’ ’ 
said she in her native language — “ take that ; the stones 
are real, and it’s good gold. Give me a hundred pounds 
sterling for it — and be quick.” 

He spoke English, of course, in his own way, as he 
spoke half-a-dozen European tongues. Poising the bracelet 
in his hand, he looked blandly into Norah’s face, and 
observed — 

“ A hundred gulden, honourable lady — a hundred gulden 
(mintz) ; or you shall have your English money at 11 48, 
the rate of exchange this morning in Frankfort, and — 

and ,” observing the cloud on his customer’s brow, 

“ anything else you like out of my shop, for an andenken, 
honourable lady. There is bric-a-brac and French clocks, 

13 


194 


THE WHITE EOSE 


and ver’ goot Turkish shawls behind there, and slippers, 
and amber, und so weiter, und so weiter,'* bowing lower 
and looking more persuasive with every fresh enumeration. 

“ One hundred pounds ! ” repeated Norah, shutting her 
lips tight, as was her habit when very much in earnest. 
“ It’s worth more than two, I know. Take it, or leave it ! 
There’s another shop three doors lower down.” 

“ Fifty, honourable lady. Sixty — seventy ! ” expostulated 
the buyer, increasing his hid every time he looked at Mrs. 
Vandeleur’s unyielding face. “Eighty and five! Well, 
well, to favour a gracious and honourable lady, let us say a 
hundred, and ten guldens thrown back. Not a fiorin ! Not 
a kreutzer 1 Ah ! be it so. Bot I sail gain nozing, gar 
nichts, ven I send him to Frankfort to be sold; ” and the 
old fellow counted out the money in French and German 
paper with an admirable assumption of combining the 
courtesy due to a lady with the satisfaction of performing a 
charitable action. 

Norah crumpled it all up together and left the shop, 
scarce deigning to return a nod for the many bows and 
entreaties for her future custom, with which the little man 
ushered her out. 

No sooner was she in the street, than she pushed the 
packet into Mrs. Ainslie’s hands. “ Take it, Fanny,” she 
said, “ and welcome. Heartily welcome I Only,” and here 
her eyes looked wild, and her voice came as if she were 
choking, “ whatever happens, don’t — don’t tell him that it 
comes from me ? ” 

They were close to her own door, and dropping her veil 
over her face, she ran in without another word. Mr. 
Vandeleur had got tired of waiting, and gone off to dinner. 
Therefore it is reasonable to suppose that Norah would go 
at once to her own room, and soothe her feelings with the 
refreshment of “ a good cry.” 


CHAPTER XXV 
“the woman he marbied” 

Fanny looked after her long and earnestly for more than a 
minute. Then the face, usually so soft and rosy, turned 
hard and pale. 

“ She loves him ! ” muttered Mrs. Ainslie, clenching the 
soiled notes in her gloved hand ; “ she loves my husband — 
loves him still ! Ay ! and the right way too. I think I 
know how a woman should care for a man ! I wonder what 
he feels about it ? I’ll find out before I’m an hour older. 
It’s time something was done, and if it’s as I think, why 
he’ll live to repent it, perhaps, that’s all ! I’m not the 
woman to be deceived and put upon, I can tell my lord ! 
There’s others besides him, just as good gentlefolks, too, 
that can look sweet and speak kind. Ah ! a worm will 
turn upon you if you’ll only tread hard enough ; and I ain’t 
quite a worm yet — very far ftom it ! ” 

Thus Mrs. Ainslie, looking, indeed, very unlike a worm 
in her pretty dress and her sparkling beauty, that even an 
angry face could not wholly destroy. She had not far to 
go, perhaps scarcely a quarter of a mile, but into that short 
walk Fanny compressed the reflections and the possibilities 
of a lifetime. She reviewed her own past, but only since 
she had known Gerard ; previous to that era it seemed well 
to ignore, even to herself, the habits and inclinations of her 
girlhood. She went back to the first day they met in the 
sweet early summer under the willows, by Ripley-water, 
but the tears began to gather, and she forced herself not to 

195 


196 


THE WHITE BOSE 


dwell too long on that memorable walk. Even with its 
golden recollections was mingled the alloy of Miss Welby’s 
presence, and Eanny could have cursed the fair, white face 
that had thus come always between her and happiness — 
wilfully forgetting that but for Miss Welhy’s rare beauty 
and Yandeleur’s unscrupulous spirit of intrigue, she had 
never so much as made the acquaintance of the man who 
was now her husband. 

Neither did she like to think too much of the happy 
time, despite its keen anxiety, when he lay between life and 
death, and she had him all to herself, to watch and tend 
and love, with trembling hopes and fears, in sweet un- 
certainty whether that love would ever he returned. How 
well she remembered the day when he came hack from the 
confines of death to eat his chicken-broth like a living man, 
when, weakened by watching and anxiety, she hurst into 
tears from sheer pleasure at the sight. Oh ! for that 
happy time once more ! and now it could never, never 
come again ! 

She could have wept freely, hut that something fierce in 
Fanny’s nature, a spirit of rebellion against pain, always 
came to the surface under suffering ; and a reactionary 
sentiment of pity for herself, such as she w^ould have felt 
for another, ere she had time to melt, hardened her hack 
into wrath. He had never loved her, she thought — not 
even when he took her to his breast that day. It was only 
gratitude, that was all, and a young man’s fancy for a 
pretty face. She had a pretty face, she knew it ; and there 
were others thought so besides him. She would have made 
him a good wife, perhaps, if he had let her, hut he never 
would let her; and after all, maybe, it wasn’t in her 
nature to he steady for long. What was the use of trying 
to be good ? It certainly hadn’t answered with her. Best 
take things as they come, and ‘‘ so let the world jog along 
as it will.” 

‘‘And that there Frenchman,” continued Fanny, pursuing 
her meditations half aloud, “ he’d take me away to-morrow, 
and welcome, if I was only to hold up my finger ! And why 
shouldn’t I hold up my finger ? It wouldn’t break Gerard’s 
heart. I don’t believe he’d even go to the station to ask 
what train I’d started by. And the other’s a real gentle- 


“ THE WOMAN HE MABBIEB 


197 


man after all — a nobleman, as I believe ; and I do think he 
loves the very ground I walk on. Is a girl never to have a 
home ? never to know the worth of an honest man’s affec- 
tion? It’s not been mine yet, but I should like to try. 
Gerard had better look out. If he don’t alter his conduct 
he’ll find the cage open and the bird flown. Ah ! it’s not 
the bird that he wants in his own nest. She’s got gilt 
wires round her, and perhaps she beats her breast against 
them harder than any of us think for. Bear ! dear ! it’s a 
bad business altogether, and if it don’t get better I’m in 
two minds whether I won’t take French leave. French 
leave, indeed ! if the Count will chance it, why, so will I. 
I’ve done a good stroke of business to-day, at any rate. I 
wonder whether Gerard will think so ? At least I’ve done 
it for him. I wonder whether any other woman would have 
done half as much. It wasn’t so easy to ask her for charity. 
What could I do ? Vandeleur ? I know him too well. He 
said that cheque should be the last ; and when the Squire 
won’t, why he won’t — not if you was gasping for a mouth- 
ful of bread at his feet. Well, Gerard, it’s about done at 
last, lad ; but perhaps you and me will part friends after 
all!” 

She had reached their lodgings now, and ascended the 
stairs with some vague unacknowledged hope that she might 
have judged her husband too harshly. Perhaps he had got 
over his infatuation about Mrs. Yandeleur, another man’s 
wife and all I thought Fanny. Perhaps it was but a boy’s 
fancy, and he had forgotten it, as men do forget such youth- 
ful weaknesses — men and women too : she had buried a 
dozen of them, and even their ghosts never rose to disturb 
her now. Well, a few minutes would show. She could 
love him yet, for all that was come and gone, if he would 
but give her the chance. 

He was sitting in an armchair, plunged in gloomy 
thought, with his eyes fixed on the empty stove. His hat 
was still on his head ; he had not even taken off his 
gloves. Whatever might be the subject of his meditations, 
at least it was engrossing. He did not even hear her come 
into the room. 

Twenty-four hours ago she would have stolen behind him 
and laid her hand on his shoulder — perhaps turned his face 


198 


THE WHITE ROSE 


up and given it a saucy kiss. She was too proud to do so 
now, but placing herself directly in his front, observed coldly, 
and in a tone little calculated to conciliate — 

“ I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Ainslie, but I have been 
about your business, and have done, I think, as much as you 
could wish.” 

He gave a great start. He was dreaming of Marston 
Kectory — the roses, the cedar-tree, the lawn, the work- 
table, the slender girlish figure, the fond pale face, with its 
dark eyes and its golden chestnut hair. He woke to 
Homburg, ruin, and an exasperated wife ; beautiful indeed 
and brilliant of complexion, but hard, indignant, bearing on 
her forehead the well-known frown, that denoted a domestic 
storm at band. 

“ My business? ” be asked shortly; ‘‘I didn’t know I bad 
any ! Nor pleasure neither, for the matter of that ! ” 

“You needn’t sneer,” she replied, commanding herself 
with an effort, though the dark eyes flashed ominously. 
“ So long as I remain with you, so long as I fulfil my duty 
as a wife, your interests are mine. I have been looking 
after them to-day. Count that money, sir. Ob ! I’m not 
going to cheat you. If I’m right you’ll find it exactly a 
hundred pounds ! ” 

He was so surprised that he never thought of telling over 
the notes she held out, nor even taking them from her hand. 
He stared blankly in his wife’s face. 

“A hundred pounds!” said he. “Why? what? how do 
you mean ? Fanny, how could you ever come by a hundred 
pounds? ” 

Kather a hard smile lightened in her dark eyes, and showed 
her white teeth, while she answered — 

“That’s my business; yours is to take and do the best 
you can with it. I’m not such a fool, Gerard, after all, 
though I hadn’t the luck to he a lady horn.” 

He winced. Somehow she always said the very thing 
that irritated him most. It is no unusual drawback to 
married life, this same knack of “ rubbing the hair ” the 
wrong way ; and I think it helps to bring a very large pro- 
portion of cases into the “ Court of Probate,” &c. 

“At least,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “ I have a 
right to know where this comes from. You never had a 


THE WOMAN HE MARBIED 


199 


hundred pounds of your own in your life, Fanny ; nor any- 
thing worth a hundred pounds ! ” 

“ Not me,” she answered, with an impatient little tap of 
her foot against the floor. “ But as the Count says, ‘ Qui 
Bait enfin ce qui arrivera ? ’ ” 

The atrocious British accent of this quotation grated on 
his ear less than the mention of the Count’s name. 

‘‘I have a right to know, Fanny,” he repeated, in a stern, 
commanding tone, against which she was sure to rebel. “I 
desire you will tell me the truth at once.” 

“ Then I just won’t ! ” she answered, remembering 
Norah’s stipulation, and thirsting for battle on her own 
account, wounded as she felt in her better feelings, 
and falling more and more under the dominion of her 
worse. 

When a woman takes up such a position it is somewhat 
difficult to dislodge her. The only chance is that she 
seldom holds it for any length of time, abandoning it usually 
for the shelter of some grievance, real or imaginary. 

I can come to but one conclusion, then,” said Gerard, 
mounting the high horse. It must have been furnished 
by Count Tourbillon, and I decline to have anything to do 
with it — or with you either, after to-day ! ” 

She turned perfectly white in her anger now. She had 
enough of right she felt on her side to justify any outbreak 
of temper, any breach of confidence. She forgot her 
promise to Norah, she forgot her duty to her husband, 
forgot ever3d;hing but the bitter, cruel insult under which 
she writhed. 

It is not from Count Tourbillon ! ” she exclaimed ; 
and you are a base coward to say it is ! I have it in 
charity — charity — from your old sweetheart ! It’s from 
Mrs. Vandeleur — there ! Perhaps you’ll take it now; for I 
do believe as you worship the very ground she walks 
on ! ” 

He covered his face with his hands. 

** God knows I do ! ” was all he murmured. 

It was too much for Fanny. That stricken look, that 
sorrowing voice, that muttered confession, wrung by surprise 
and suffering, proved more than a thousand protestations. 
She saw it all, and it pierced her like a knife. 


200 


THE WHITE ROSE 


With a gesture of intense irritation she flung the little 
crumpled-up bundle of notes at her husband’s head, swept 
out of the room, hanging the door fiercely behind her, and 
walked down stairs without trusting herself to say another 
word. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE RULING PASSION 

Gerard, left alone with his own reflections, sat for a while 
in a brown study opposite the stove. By degrees, the past 
came back in regular succession, like the scenes of a diorama, 
or rather faint and distorted as on the slides of a magic 
lantern. It was with a thrill of something akin to actual 
happiness that he considered his utter ruin, for, had it not 
brought him the assurance that he still lived in Norah’s 
memory, nay, that he still occupied some portion of a heart, 
once wholly his own ? For a moment, I say, he was almost 
happy. Then came the self-torture to which such disposi- 
tions are peculiarly subject; the misgivings from which 
coarser organisations, secure in their own good opinion, are 
wholly free ; the morbid depreciation of its real value, so 
often entertained by an engrossing affection acting on a 
sensitive and imaginative temperament, not yet experienced 
in the selflshness of mankind, and ignorant how rare, and 
consequently how precious, is an honest, undivided love, 
adulterated by no considerations of interest or vanity or 
advancement. He remembered now the painful longing, 
the weary waiting in his comfortless lodgings for the letter 
that never came. Would he have done so by her ? Not to 
save his life a hundred times ! No ; she could not really 
have loved him. Had she not given the clearest possible 
proof of her indifference? Was she not another man’s 
wife ? The haughty, happy wife of an affectionate husband, 
willing and rich enough to indulge her in every fancy and 
every whim ? To help her old lover with a sum of money 
she did not want, as you throw your dog scraps from your 


202 


THE WHITE BOSE 


plate at limclieon, seemed to be the last caprice ; and was 
her dog to take it with servile, grateful gestures, and mild, 
fawning eyes ? Her faithful dog, once ready to face death 
itself willingly for one caressing wave of the white hand, 
one kind look in the blue eyes ! No ; he would be a dog 
indeed, if he could accept such an indignity from the 
woman who had trodden his heart under foot without 
compunction or remorse ! Stung by the thoughts, he rose 
from his chair, and picked the notes off the floor where they 
lay as Fanny had thrown them down. He would send 
them back to Mrs. Vandeleur that very afternoon. It 
would be an excuse at least for writing — only a few lines, 
expressing gratitude of com’se, but cold, polite, and with a 
covert bitterness in every word, that should cut her false 
heart to the quick ! Instinctively he examined the roll and 
counted over the notes ; with the addition of a few 
Napoleons enclosed, the sum amounted to exactly a 
hundred pounds. While he told them over, a temptation 
came strong upon him to take them back to her himself; 
through much pride and sorely wounded feelings rose the 
unconquerable thirst to hear that well-known voice, to look 
in that dear face once again — the longing that has saved 
many a heart from shipwreck, as it has lured many another 
to destruction. 

There is a story in one of our ancient romances exempli- 
fying the mastery of this ill-advised ** desire of the eyes,” 
even in extremity of mortal danger, which is not without a 
moral, though couched in a grim pathetic humour of its 
own. Kendered into modern English, it runs almost as 
follows : — 

“ Now, the king held a tournament, and caused heralds 
to proclaim that at high noon the Knight of the Falcon 
would give battle to all comers, by sound of trumpet ; to 
run three courses with thrust of lance, and exchange three 
sword strokes, point and edge, in honour of the king’s 
betrothed bride, whom none had yet seen, for she was 
coming to share his throne from her father’s castle beyond 
the Northern Sea. And if any knight would uphold that 
his ladye-love was aught but sun-burned in comparison 
with this unknown damsel, he must accept mortal deflance 
from the challenger, and so give him battle Voutrance, 


THE RULING PASSION 


203 


Therefore, the Knight of the Falcon hung his shield under 
the gallery, where sat the king surrounded by his nobles 
and their dames ; hut because it was the shield of a famous 
warrior, with whom issue must be tried, not by weapons of 
courtesy hut to the death, men passed it by untouched, and 
it seemed that the beauty of the unknown queen would be 
established in a bloodless victory. 

“ So the heralds blew their trumpets loudly, and some 
of the ladies in the king’s gallery whispered that their 
brows must indeed be sun-burned, since their lovers had 
grown so sparing of lance- shaft and sword-blade ; hut the 
Lady Elinor laughed scornfully, and said to her companions, 
‘ Behold, though my knight is under a vow, that he will 
neither speak in my presence, nor look in my face, till 
Pentecost be come and past, yet will he adventure man 
and horse, life and limb, to uphold mine honour this day, 
as ye shall see before the heralds shall have sounded one 
more trumpet blast.’ 

“ Even while she spoke. Sir Eglamor, called, after his 
vow, * the Silent Knight,’ rode lightly into the lists, and 
struck his lance-point fair and free against the hanging 
shield till it rang again, but spake never a word the while, 
and though his vizor was up, kept his eyes fixed on the 
mailed gauntlets at his saddle-bow, because of his vow and 
his ladye-love, who looked down on him from the gallery 
above. Nevertheless, the blood came bright and glowing 
into his face, so that Lady Elinor thought her knight had 
never seemed so fair as when he clasped his vizor, and 
wheeled his horse to his post, and laid his lance knightly 
in the rest. 

So the trumpets sounded, and the knights ran three 
courses, shivering their lances to the grasp without 
advantage lost or won on either side. "V^erefore, they 
drew their good swords, and laid on with mighty strokes 
for honour and renown. 

“ Now the Knight of the Falcon pressed his adversary 
sore, and drove him to the barriers, and plied him with 
sweeping blade under the king’s gallery ; but the Silent 
Knight spied a crevice beneath the other’s vaunt-brace, 
and drew hack his arm to speed a deadly thrust that should 
win for Lady Elinor the victory. 


204 


THE WHITE ROSE 


“ She was leaning over to watch him, and beholding her 
knight as it seemed to her thus at disadvantage, she turned 
deadly pale, uttering a faint scream of pity and terror and 
dismay. 

“ Then the Silent Knight forgot his vow, and his skill of 
arms, and his sore need in mortal strife, to look up once 
again in the pale scared face he loved so well. Once again, 
and never more ! for the whirling blade came crashing 
down, and shore through floating plume and good steel 
helmet, and bit deep into the skull, so that the Silent 
Knight fell heavily beneath the trampling horses; and 
when his squire ran in to unclasp his vizor, he neither 
spoke nor lifted his eyes, nor moved again. 

‘‘ Said the Lady Elinor, ‘ Alas, for my true knight ! that 
even in his mortal peril he could not refrain his eyes from 
this poor face. Never shall it be unveiled in the sight of 
men again ! ’ 

“ So she kept her vow till nigh Pentecost twelvemonth, 
and knights and dames declared that the Lady Elinor had 
mourned for her true love right maidenly and well.” 

In obedience, then, to the dictate of this morbid craving, 
Gerard sallied forth to traverse the gardens of the Kursaal, 
with the hope of seeing Mrs. Yandeleur once more. It 
was improbable that his search would be successful, inas- 
much as the hour had arrived at which it was the habit of 
those visitors to go to dinner, who preserved the customs 
of civilised life, and felt unequal to a heavy German meal 
of flve courses at one o’clock. He walked up one alley 
and down another without seeing a human being, except 
the tidy, prosperous, essentially Saxon maiden who pre- 
sided over the Louisen-Briinnen, and whose smile was 
sweet, whose blue eyes were placid, as if there were no 
such things as aching hearts or broken fortunes in the 
world. She only nodded pleasantly in answer to his 
inquiring glances, reached him a mug of the sparkling 
water, and, unmoved by his refusal, went on calmly with 
her knitting as before. 

He could not bring himself to call at Vandeleur’s house 
and ask point-blank if Norah was at home, so he was easily 
persuaded she must have gone to dinner at the crowded 
tahle-d*hdte in the Kursaal, and there was nothing for it 


THE BULING PASSIOH 


205 


but to wait till that protracted meal should come to an 
end. He thought once of joining the two hundred feasters, 
but he could not have eaten a morsel to save his life. 
Besides — and the reflection was a little startling — he had 
not a farthing of money in his pocket, except that hundred 
of Norah’s which he had resolved not to touch. So he 
thought he would walk to and fro amongst the poplars, 
and revolve what he should say to her when they did meet, 
conducting in his own mind an impassioned dialogue con- 
veying sentiments of unaltered affection on both sides, 
based on an imaginary avowal from the lady which it was 
most improbable she would make. 

He was getting on remarkably well in his own opinion, 
and had forgotten the existence of Vandeleur, and even 
Fanny, as completely as if he were still Mr. Archer’s pupil, 
speeding across the flats to Marston Kectory, when a little 
cloud that had gathered on the brows of the Taunus dis- 
solved into a gentle summer shower, before it could reach 
the Maine. Not an idler but himself was out of doors, and 
seeing it must pass over in a few minutes, he took shelter 
in one of the roulette-rooms opening on the perron of the 
Kursaal. 

The game, though languishing, was not without a few 
supporters. The ball clicked at intervals into its numbered 
pigeon-holes, and the drowsy voice of the croupier was to 
be heard with its ‘‘rouge-pair, et passe,” or its “rien ne 
va plus,” in monotonous succession. A few shabby-looking 
players, who had dined early, or could not afford to dine at 
all, stalked round the table, like unquiet spirits ; and the 
stakes were so modest that when zero turned up in favour 
of the bank, it only netted seventeen florins and one 
napoleon of doubtful metal, not much resembling gold. 

With the instinct of habit, and scarce aware of what he 
was about, Gerard placed one of his louis, lately the pro- 
perty of Mrs. Vandeleur, on that column of the board 
which comprised what are termed the “middle numbers,” 
from 18 to 25 inclusive. The ball ran into a compartment 
marked 17, and according to the rules of the game he won 
double his stake. Such encouragement to the venture of a 
professed gambler could have but one result. He saw 
before him the possibility of winning a large stake, of 


206 


THE WHITE BOSE 


returning Norah the hundred pounds she had sent him, 
and of assuring her that, while he was not indebted to her 
a farthing, she had been his good angel, and had preserved 
him from utter penury and want. A second hazard was 
equally successful, and Gerard cast himself blindly into the 
arms of that goddess in whom he had lately accustomed 
himself implicitly to trust. She failed him, as she so often 
fails her votaries, when they have none to rely on but her- 
self. After an hour of gnawing anxiety and suspense, that 
left its traces on his features months afterwards, Gerard for 
the second time within a few hours walked out upon the 
perron literally beggared to the utmost farthing. Nay, 
worse than this ; he had lost more than food and shelter, 
more than the necessaries of life. How could he ever look 
Mrs. Vandeleur in the face again ? 

His eyes vacant and abstracted, face bloodless, hands 
thrust deep into empty pockets, coat buttoned, and hat 
pushed back, he walked with something of a drunkard’s 
wavering step and gesture in the direction of his home. 
There seems implanted in human nature that instinct of 
the wild animal which prompts the hopeless, helpless 
sufferer to seek its own lair, there to lie down and die. 
Gerard Ainslie staggered back to his “ apartment of four 
pieces ” aimlessly and unconsciously, as the hurt wolf 
slinks to his den, or the sinking fox makes for the wood- 
land in which he was bred. It was not till his hand 
touched the door that another pang came across him, as he 
remembered his wife, and wondered ‘‘ what he should say 
to Fanny ! ” 

He had forgotten their late difference now — forgotten 
her irritating ways, her want of refinement in manner — 
forgotten even her low birth and his own lost chances — 
forgotten everything hut that she had beauty, and loved 
him, and had fought gallantly by his side through the ups 
and downs of their short married life ; nay, that even now 
she would not offer a reproach, but would probably try to 
please him more than ever, because he was completely 
undone. She had courage, he remembered ; she had 
energy and resource ; but what plan could she hit upon 
now ? or how should he excuse the imbecile recklessness 
and folly of this last fatal proceeding? 


THE RULING PASSION 


207 


Poor Gerard ! He need not have troubled himself on 
that score. Entering the sitting-room, he could not fail to 
observe that the box which contained Fanny’s favourite 
finery was absent from its accustomed comer. There was 
no work on the sofa, and no work-basket, while the fan she 
usually left by the flower-stand had disappeared; but on 
the table lay a letter, addressed to himself, in the clear, 
formal handwriting he had often jested with her for taking 
so much pains to acquire. I think he knew the truth 
before he opened it. I think amongst all the mingled 
feelings called up by its perusal, one of thankfulness for a 
sense of liberty predominated. It was short, frank enough 
in all conscience, and very much to the point : — 

“ I have quitted you,” it told him, ‘‘ once for all. I am 
never coming back again, and will never ask to see you any 
more. Gerard, I wouldn’t have gone like this if I hadn’t 
left you something to keep you from starving. I feel bad 
enough ; don’t think me worse than I am. And I wouldn’t 
have deserted you at all, only you don’t love me ! — that’s 
enough; I’m not a-going to say another word. Perhaps 
I’d have made you a good wife if you’d behaved different ; 
but I don’t bear malice. I’d say ‘ God bless you ! ’ if I 
thought a blessing of mine could do anybody anything but 
harm. Good-bye, Gerard ! I hope you’ll be happier some 
day with somebody else than you’ve ever been with me. 

“Fanny.” 

So Gerard found himself without a wife, without friends, 
without money; outraged, insulted, ruined, lonely, desolate 
— but free. 


CHAPTEK XXVII 

DISAGREEABLE 

It is time to return to Mr. Vandeleur, who, like most men 
of his age, considered dinner no unimportant item in the 
day’s programme, and protested vigorously against any- 
thing being suffered to interfere with that important 
function. It is only very young people, I imagine, who 
boast they can live upon love — though how so light a diet 
supplies the wants of a growing appetite I am at a loss to 
comprehend. John Vandeleur could still find pleasure in 
the glance of a bright eye, the accents of a sweet voice ; 
yet was he none the less susceptible to the fascinations of 
four courses and a dessert, washed down by a bottle of 
Mumm’s champagne, if no better could be got, a cup of 
clear coffee, and a chasse of cura9oa. The humours of a 
table dliote also amused him not a little, provided he had 
somebody to join in his mirth ; and he was very proud of 
the admiring glances elicited by Norah’s handsome face 
and figure from connoisseurs of various nations, when she 
entered a crowded salle to take her place at the long 
glittering table, with its glass, fruit, flowers, trumpery, 
and tinsel, all exceedingly pleasing to the eye. Moreover, 
he was hungry after his walk on the Taunus ; therefore he 
waited impatiently in the sitting-room for five or ten 
minutes, ere he went and tapped at his wife’s door. 

Mrs. Vandeleur, knowing her red eyelids would not bear 
inspection, had locked herself in. 

“Who’s there ? ” she demanded sharply, from inside. 

“We shall be very late,’’ he said, “ if you’re not ready. 
Hadn’t I better order dinner at home ? ” 

She longed for an hour’s quiet ; she thirsted for ever so 
208 


DISAGBEEABLE 


209 


short a space of time to herself, to do battle with, and gain 
the mastery over, her own heart ; so she answered a little 
impatiently — 

“ I’m not coming — I don’t want any dinner — I’m not 
hungi-y. Go on, and never mind me.” 

“No dinner, Norah ? ” replied her husband, in a tone of 
surprise and concern. “ Are you not well, darling ? Can’t 
I get you anything ? Shall I send after Von Saufenkelch 
— ^I saw him pass just now? ” 

Her heart smote her sore. Why couldn’t she love him ? 
He was so kind and considerate ; so anxious if she was ill, 
so forbearing when she was cross. Though ungovernable 
with others, he was always a gentleman to her. And she 
could scarce return him even common gratitude for his 
devotion. She forced herself to speak in terms of kindness 
and affection. 

“Don’t he anxious, dear,” she answered, without rising 
from the bed on which she lay. “ I’m only tired, and I 
have got a little headache. An hour’s quiet will take it 
away. Go to dinner without me ; I shall he all right 
when you come back.” 

But she shuddered, and turned her wet face to the 
pillows, while his step died out along the passage. Could 
she go on bearing this ? Must it always be thus ? Was 
her whole life to be a lie? 

Then she thanked Heaven that she had been able to help 
Gerard at his need, and made a firm resolution never to see 
him, nor hear from him, nor so much as even think of him 
again, and prayed that strength might be given her to keep 
it till the end. 

John Vandeleur, a little disappointed, walked off to feed 
with two hundred of his fellow-creatures at the crowded 
table d'hote of the Kursaal. A knot of French women, 
vivacious in language and agreeable in manners, looked 
after him with approving glances as he passed, considering 
him, no doubt, a creditable specimen of the middle-aged, 
manly, well-dressed English gentleman ; and one even 
observed, loud enough for him to overhear — “ Tiens ! 
Coralie, il est bien, ce vieillard. Pour un Anglais bien 
entendu ! ” To which Coralie, whose teeth would bear 
inspection, only replied by a sarcastic grin. 


210 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Something seemed to be gnawing at his heart though^ 
while he threaded the crowds of well-dressed, handsome 
women who were thronging towards the table d'hote ; 
something that would keep reminding him how the path he 
had elected to follow was slipping from beneath his feet ; 
how the life he had chosen was passing away, to leave 
nothing but a vague impotent regret in its place. Once, 
not so long ago, he would have enjoyed such a scene, as 
the butterfly enjoys the summer-garden where it may 
disport itself at will. Now he could not even wish that 
time would come again. Like the mortal in fairy-land 
whose eyes had been touched with a magic liquid that 
rendered powerless the elfin glamour, he seemed to see 
gaunt skeletons and grinning skulls beneath winning 
smiles and graceful, undulating dresses. He had come 
up with the mirage at last, and discovered that those 
golden lakes and gardens of Paradise were but barren sand 
and scorching glare. Was there only one fountain to 
quench his insufferable thirst, and must that be sealed to 
him for evermore ? His brain swam, and he turned sick 
and cold, but the man had lots of pluck, and soon rallied — 
swaggering into the long lofty salle with his accustomed air 
of easy good-humoured superiority, though he said to himself 
he was “ about done ” all the same. 

“I’ve been through everything else,” thought Vandeleur, 
“ but I’ve never taken to drinking. I used to think fellows 
fools who did. Well, I’m learning some queer lessons now. 
Perhaps it’s the only thing left after all ! ” 

Nevertheless, he was so loyal to his young wife, shut up 
weeping in her room, that he went and sat by old Lady 
Baker, who usually found a vacant place at her elbow — 
something in her brown wig and general demeanour 
deterring strangers from a near approach, until compelled 
to face that ordeal by the pangs of hunger and the exigencies 
of a crowded table. 

“ Where’s Norah ? Why didn’t you bring her ? ” asked 
this tiresome old woman in the loud voice deaf people, 
as being mindful of the golden rule, seem invariably to use. 

“ Got a headache,” answered Vandeleur in the same key, 
arranging his napkin, and commencing on a plate of thick 
vermicelli soup. 


DISAGBEEABLE 


211 


“ Head-ache ! Nonsense ! ” answered Lady Baker, and 
by this time their stentorian colloquy had raised some score 
of heads on each side of the table from the congenial 
employment of eating, while Vandeleur wished he was 
sitting anywhere else. “ That’s only the waters. I tell 
you the Louisen-Briinnen would give my poodle a head- 
ache if it was to do him any good. Why didn’t you make 
her come ? What’s the use of your marrying a young wife 
if you don’t take her about and amuse her? She looks 
moped to death. What’s that? Beef? Merci, no thank 
ye. Mr. Vandeleur, will you hand the Wein-karte ? ” 

Vandeleur had ordered a bottle of champagne. While 
Lady Baker wavered between the merits of Beaune and 
Medoc, he had time to fortify himself with a glass or two 
of that exhilarating compound, but his communicative 
neighbour was soon at him again. 

“ Tell Norah I’ve such a piece of news for her,” she 
shouted in his ear : “ I’ve seen her old love on the terrace. 
It’s as true as I sit here. And he is playing, I can tell 
you, as if his pockets were lined with gold. You remember 
young Ainslie, the lad who was at Mr. Archer’s, not above 
two miles from Oakover ? ” 

Remember young Ainslie ? He rather thought he did ; 
and the recollection scarce improved the flavour of that 
last gulp of champagne ere he filled again so rapidly. But 
John Vandeleur was a match for a good many Lady Bakers 
still, and he laughed carelessly while he replied — 

Playing is he ? That won’t last long. I’m sorry for 
it. I used to think him a nice boy, and he was a great 
favourite of Norah’s, but I’m afraid he’s gone regularly to 
the bad.” 

‘‘You may well say so,” proclaimed Lady Baker; “I 
can tell you more than that ; I can tell you what’s become 
of that odious woman he married. I can tell you who 
she’s gone off with. Ah ! it’s a sad business. A’n’t you 
dying to know? ” 

Here an English mamma, with two gaunt daughters not 
out of ear-shot, half rose from her seat, as about to take 
refuge in flight ; but observing the approach of tempting 
souffle, and unwilling, perhaps, to lose the germ of a 
flagrant scandal, contented herself with frowning in a 


212 


THE WHITE BOSE 


rebuking manner at her offspring, and remaining very 
upright in her place. 

Lady Baker continued : — 

never thought much of that Count Tourbillon, you 
know, I told you myself you shouldn’t introduce him to 
your wife, and I’m thankful now I did. Well, I sent my 
maid out, before I went to dress, for half a yard of sarsnet. 
Will you believe, Mr. Vandeleur, that there wasn’t such a 
thing to be got as half a yard of sarsnet, without writing to 
Frankfort for it ! And what do you think she saw? ” 

“ The Frankfort omnibus empty,” answered Vandeleur, 
refilling his glass, and the English clergyman’s children 
in a donkey-chair! that’s about the usual excitement 
here.” 

“Nonsense,” replied her ladyship; “you can see that 
any day. No ; what my maid saw was a fiacre, loaded 
with luggage, and driven towards the railway-station, with 
a foreign servant on the box, and inside Count Tourbillon, 
accompanied by ” — here the English mamma stretched her 
long neck to listen, while her demure daughters coloured 
with suppressed delight — “by Mrs. Ainslie. There, Mr. 
Vandeleur ! Have I opened your eyes, or have I not?” 

If she had, Vandeleur was most unlikely to admit it. 
Calling for a glass of Madeira, he answered calmly — 

“ What a good riddance for Ainslie ! Now the weight is 
taken off, it is just possible he may get a fresh start, and 
make a race of it after all.” 

“ That’s so like a man I ” answered her ladyship with a 
gi’im smile, and a playful shake of her brown wig ; “ you 
never think of us. Have you no pity for the poor woman 
who has fallen into the hands of your friend ? Yes, your 
friend, that good-for-nothing Count Tourbillon? ” 

Vandeleur’ s laugh was harsh and grating. “ Pity ! ” 
replied he; “who that knows anything about them ever 
pitied a woman ! Like the tiger-cat, they can take care of 
themselves. Tourbillon understands them thoroughly. He 
wages war with the whole sex — war to the knife 1 — and he’s 
quite right. I’ll tell you what. Lady Baker ; I’ll pity you 
if ever you fall into his clutches, but nobody else. G-ar9on 1 
Encore un verre de madere.” 

He spoke in a loud, almost a brutal tone, quite unlike 


DISAGMEEABLB 


213 


his usual voice, and even Lady Baker’s dull senses 
perceived the difference. She looked a little surprised, 
while the English mamma, with a sign to her daughters, 
walked grandly and reproachfully away. To be sm*e, 
dinner was over and there was nothing to stay for now; 
nor could she expect to hear so good a piece of scandal 
during the next twenty-fom* hours. Was it not her duty, 
therefore, to impart it without delay, to certain female 
friends of her own nation, with whom she was engaged to 
a British cup of tea, while the rest of the company went to 
drink coffee outside, where they could sit in the glow of 
the warm evening and enjoy the strains of such a band as 
is never heard out of doors but in Germany ? 

Vandeleur lit a cigar, and took his place to listen, but 
the sweet, sad, wailing melody of the waltz they were 
playing irritated him strangely, and seemed to call up all 
kinds of morbid uncomfortable feelings in his mind. He 
had become veiy restless of late, and seldom remained long 
in any one spot. He thought he would walk about a little, 
while he finished his cigar, unwilling to inflict its fumes 
on Norah and her headache, yet anxious to return home 
mthout delay. 

So he wandered amongst the poplar alleys to kill time, 
and presently found himself in front of the stall at which 
his wife had made so bad a bargain that same afternoon. 

He remembered she had praised some beads in a shop- 
window as they passed through Frankfort, but which they 
had no time to stop and purchase. Perhaps he might find 
something of the same kind here. Puffing his cigar, he 
glanced his eye lazily over the counter in search of what 
he required. 

Suddenly the colour rose to his brow, and he turned on 
the German Jew who presided over the emporium, with an 
energy that made the little man shrink in his shoes. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked, pointing to the 
bracelet he had himself placed on Norah’s arm some three 
months before. 

The dealer hesitated, stammered, and could not re- 
member of course. He had so many customers, so much 
business, he never refused to bargain. The high and well- 
born gentleman was obviously a man of taste. If he liked 


214 


THE WHITE BOSE 


the bracelet he could have it cheap, very cheap. It was 
worth three thousand florins, hut he desired the gentleman’s 
custom. He would take what it had cost him, and the 
gentleman should have it for twenty-five hundred, if he 
would buy something else. There was a pearl necklace in 
the back-shop, and a set of turquoise buttons made for the 
Grand Duchess herself. 

Yandeleur threw away his cigar and took the bracelet 
out of the other’s hand for a nearer inspection. During 
the space of a moment he turned very pale. It was 
scarce possible, he thought, that two trinkets could have 
been made so exactly alike ; but he soon determined to set 
his doubts at rest. 

Twenty-five hundred florins ! ” said he. “ You might 
as well ask twenty-five millions ! I will give you two 
thousand. That was what the bracelet cost in London, 
and you will make at least fifty per cent, profit, as you 
know.” 

“ Not a gulden, not a kreutzer, not a poor half- 
groschen! ” protested the Jew. On the contrary, he would 
he out of pocket by the transaction. Such dealings would 
ruin him, would shut up his shop, would cause him to 
become a bankrupt. Nevertheless, to oblige this English 
nobleman he would even risk such a catastrophe. But the 
English nobleman would not forget him, and would deal 
with him while he remained at Homburg for jewellery, 
amber, shawls, heads, crystals, porcelain, embroidery, and 
tobacco. Nay, he could even he of use for cashing hills on 
well-known houses in London or Paris. Nay, and here he 
looked exceedingly amiable, if his excellency required any 
temporary advance at a low rate of interest, he would feel 
proud to be of service. This in many different languages, 
with bows, and shrugs, and apologetic wavings of the 
hands. 

Vandeleur cut them all short with some impatience. 
Producing his cheque-hook, he bought the bracelet at once, 
and, without permitting it even to be packed, insisted on 
carrying it away in his hand, glancing on it from time to 
time with a wild disturbed gaze, while he hurried home. 

Mrs. Vandeleur’ s headache was better. She had drunk 
a cup of coffee, and come down to the drawing-room. 


t)lSAGBEEABLE 


216 


Pocketing his purchase, her husband joined her there with 
a clouded brow. 

Norah,” said he, ‘‘I got you a bracelet at London and 
Ryder’s, some weeks ago. I saw you wearing it yesterday. 
Just send your maid for it, please. I met her on the stairs.” 

Mrs. Vandeleur turned white. “ What do you want it 
for? ” she asked, with a vague idea of gaining time. 

He never looked at her, — he seldom did ; hut though she 
could not catch his eye, she dreaded the expression of his 
countenance, while he answered, very slowly — 

‘‘ I have a particular reason for wishing to look at the 
stones. I think I have seen one to match it exactly. Will 
you ring at once ? ” 

Her courage seldom failed her long. It was coming back 
rapidly. She raised her proud little head and looked full in 
his face. 

“ No ; I will not ! ” replied Norah. “ My maid could not 
bring it me, because she hasn’t got it.” 

“ You had it on this morning at breakfast,” said he, still 
in the same low, concentrated voice. 

“ I — I’ve lost it,” she replied. No ! I won’t tell you 
a story about it, Mr. Vandeleur. I — I sold it three hours 
ago to a German Jew, for a hundred pounds.” 

“ You sold it to a German Jew for a hundred pounds ! ” 
he repeated. “ I know you did. I bought it back for two. 
Cent, per cent, is the least of the loss when ladies do such 
things without consulting their husbands. Mrs. Vandeleur, 
may I ask what use you have made of the hundred pounds 
thus obtained in so creditable a manner to you and me ? 
You may tell me or not. But depend upon it I shall find 
this out as I did the other.” 

She had caught his eye now, and he could not look away 
from her, though he tried. Shifting his position uneasily, 
he seemed to abandon the superiority he had assumed. 
She felt her advantage, and it gave her confidence to speak 
the truth with a haughty front. 

“ You may find out what you please,” said she. There 
is nothing to conceal. I sent the money to Mr. Ainslie, 
who is ruined, and in the utmost want. I believe he is 
actually starving. You won’t frighten me, Mr. Vandeleur. 
I should do the same thing again.” 


216 


THE WHITE BOSE 


She spoke boldly, hot she was frightened none the less ; 
and something told her, though she could not explain why, 
that the only way in which she controlled him was by 
keeping her eye fixed on his. It seemed to he with sheer 
passion that his features worked so painfully, and she 
sprang to her feet as he drew near, believing for a moment 
that he would have struck her with his clenched hand. 

The sudden movement broke the charm with which she 
had fixed him, and he hurst forth in a torrent of reproaches, 
insult, and vehement abuse. He did not indeed threaten 
her with the personal violence she had feared, for even in 
these moments of uncontrollable anger, Vandeleur retained 
some of the gentlemanlike instincts which had become 
second nature, but he spoke to her in language such as she 
had never heard before, — such as, to do him justice, he had 
never spoken to a woman in his life. Pale, tearful, 
trembling, but still undaunted, Norah retired as soon as 
practicable to her own room, where she was suffered to 
remain undisturbed ; but long after she had locked herself 
in, and composed herself, as she hoped, for rest, even till 
far into the night, she lay quaking and miserable, listening 
to her husband’s voice rating the unfortunate servants, and 
giving many directions as to packing luggage, railway- 
trains, fiacres, and other premonitory symptoms of an early 
start. 

Norah could only gather that they were to take their 
departure the following morning from Homburg, and it was 
with a weary, aching heart she told herself it mattered little 
to her how far, or in what direction, they were to go. 


CHAPTER XXVm 


DESPOTIC 

Since we met them at a certain wedding-breakfast to 
celebrate the success of Mr. Vandeleur’s wooing, we have 
lost sight of two characters indispensable to the progress of 
our story. It is not to be supposed that Doily Egremont 
and Dandy Burton, having quitted the shelter of their 
tutor’s roof, retired therefore into the privacy of domestic 
life. On the contrary, each of these gentlemen considered 
himself now launched forth upon the great world, and was 
perfectly convinced of his own ability to tread a stage 
whereon success appears so easy to people, till they try. 
Burton, indeed, passed a sufficiently creditable examination, 
thanks to the care with which Mr. Archer had crammed 
him, and his own faculty of retaining special information 
in his head for a limited period. He was, therefore, now 
chiefly anxious about his speedy appointment to Her 
Majesty’s Household Cavalry, and pending the welcome 
intelligence, looked for in each succeeding Gazette, threw 
his whole mind into the congenial subjects of boots, leathers, 
helmets, cuirasses, and such warlike panoply, not to 
mention chargers, grand in action, faultless in shape, black 
in colour, or of a dark brown as far removed from black as 
the Colonel’s critical eye would permit. Such interests as 
these left but little room in the Dandy’s brains for anything 
of lighter importance ; nevertheless it did occur to him that, 
although his manners were incapable of improvement, his 
curiosity might be agreeably stimulated by a light course of 
continental travel. And, finding the French he had been 
taught at Eton and elsewhere of little use in Paris, where 


218 


THE WHITE BOSE 


the natives speak their own language in a mode astounding 
to English faculties, he wandered aimlessly on as his foreign 
servant advised, and after drinking Epernay at Chalons-sur- 
Marne, and hearing the clock strike in Strashurg Cathedral, 
found himself at Heidelberg, very much bored, and half 
persuaded that he had now done sight-seeing enough, and 
might go home with a clear conscience, via Brussels, 
Antwerp, and Ostend. To be in a foreign country ignorant 
of the language (for Burton knew about as much German 
as most young English gentlemen who have had the 
advantage of a liberal education, and could ask for a 
“ weiss-cafifee ” or a ‘‘ Kalbs-cotelette,” but little else), to 
feel dependent for society on your own thoughts, and for 
information on a servant with ear-rings and a velvet cap, 
in whose intelligence you have more confidence than in his 
honesty, is a situation that soon becomes irksome, not to 
say distressing. 

Dandy Burton came down to breakfast the morning after 
his arrival at Heidelberg with a fixed determination to do 
the Castle, the Great Tun, and other curiosities of that 
picturesque old town, in the forenoon, and start for 
England after an early dinner and a bottle of the only 
drinkable Rhine wine he had yet been able to find out. 
Having finished his coffee, he was lighting the indis- 
pensable cigar, when a heavy hand clapped him on the 
shoulder, and a cheery voice, recalling the pupil-room at 
Archer’s, accosted him in accents of extreme delight, — 

“ What, Dandy ! Our Dandy ! In the Fatherland, in 
the heart of the Black Forest ! In the very Paradise of 
singing, and smoke, and sentiment, and scenery ! Pst ! 
Waiter ! Kellner ! Beer. Bairische Bier, Ich bitte — 
Geschwind ! — Look sharp ! On the banks of the Neckar, 
you must keep up your pecker. What a jolly go ! Old 
man, I’m very glad to see you.” 

Dolly’s jovial round face denoted, indeed, the cordiality 
he felt. Stout, ruddy, sunburnt, with long hair and 
budding moustaches, dressed, moreover, in an indescribable 
costume, combining the peculiarities of every country 
through which he had passed, and surmounted by a 
Tyrolese hat, he might have been taken for a Dutch 
pedlar, a Belgian bagman, an Alsatian bandmaster, a 


DESPOTIC 


m 

horse-dealer from the Banat, a German student, or any- 
thing in the world but a young Englishman of position, the 
habitual associate of so unimpeachable a swell as Dandy 
Burton. 

The latter, however, returned his greeting well pleased. 

“When did you come?” he asked, “and how long do 
you stay ? I say, we’ll do this beastly place together. I 
thought of going back to-night. I don’t mind if I give it 
another day now. What have you been about since we 
met at Oakover ? ” 

Dolly buried his broad face in the mug of beer placed 
before him, and set it down half emptied, with a deep sigh, 
ere he replied. 

“ Plucked like a goose, my young friend ! Ploughed like 
an acre of turnips ! Spun like a humming-top or a tee-to- 
tum ! The foe may thunder at the gates now. Dandy. My 
bleeding country must look to me in vain. Like Gains of 
Corioli, my vengeance and my wrongs may furnish food for 
ribald mirth, and after-dinner songs. But when the 
trumpet note of defiance is heard without the walls, you 
must answer it on your own hook, my boy ; you’ll have no 
help from me. And all because I spelt baggage- waggon 
with too many g’s, and couldn’t tell my examiner the 
population, constitution, or hereditary policy of Hesse- 
Darmstadt.” 

“ Then you’re not going to be a soldier after all ! ” 
observed Burton in a tone of much commiseration. 

“ No, I’m not,'' replied Dolly. “ And, to tell you the 
truth, I’m very glad of it. I saw a two-hundred pound 
shot the other day, and an eighteen-inch iron plating that 
ought to have resisted it, but didn’t ! I’m a pretty fair 
Mong-stop,’ as you know, but I think I’d rather not field 
them, when they come in so sharp as that. I’ll tell you 
what I’ll do though. Dandy, for love of the profession ; 
come and admire you the first day you’re on a guard of 
honour, when there’s a levee at St. James’s. Have some 
beer, old chap, and then walk up to the castle with me.” 

So the two friends strolled through the town without 
meeting a single student, much to their disappointment; 
for even the Dandy, whose powers of admiration were 
limited, had conceived an interest in that picturesque 


220 


THE WHITE BOSE 


assemblage of unwise young men. He had heard — who 
has not? — of their associations, their discussions, their 
duels, their drinking-bouts, their affectations of dress and 
deportment, their loyalty to one another, and to the 
brotherhood of which each was so proud to form a part. 
He would have liked to become better acquainted with a 
society, than which nothing can be conceived more different 
from the undergraduates at Oxford and Cambridge, or the 
subalterns in our own regiments of cavalry. 

As for Dolly, he was wild about them. So he was about 
the town, and the castle, and the Black Forest, and the 
silver Neckar winding through its half-dried bed, in which 
huge boulders of rock denoted the force of the river when 
coming down with a winter’s flood ; also about the Wolfen- 
briinnen, famous for its improbable legend, which he related 
to his companion at great length, with many interpolations 
and additions of his own. Altogether the Dandy felt he 
had passed a fatiguing day, when they retmmed to the old 
castle, and, leaning against its battlements, took their fill 
once more of a panorama of beauty, such as no man who has 
once seen it can ever forget, such as could rouse even so 
imperturbable a young gentleman as Burton into exclama- 
tions of satisfaction and approval. 

It’s very well done indeed ! ” observed that critic, 
flinging the end of his cigar doTO some hundred fathoms 
of sheer descent, “ and if anything could repay such a broil, 
and such a cUmb, it would be a view like this ! If it wasn’t 
for his boots a fellow might almost fancy he was a bird up 
here. Mightn’t he, Dolly ? I don’t envy those two though, 
down below, having it all before them. The woman is 
tired already. Look how she lags behind ! ” 

But Dolly did not answer. With all his buffoonery, 
nay, perhaps in consequence of the comic element in his 
character, he had keen sensibilities for the gi*and, the 
beautiful, or the pathetic. There were tears in his eyes 
now, dimming the golden sparkle of the sunshine on the 
river, blurring the outline of that far horizon where endless 
ranges of the Black Forest joined the bright summer sky. 

He gulped them down though, heartily ashamed, and 
looked in the same direction as his companion. 

“Better and better! ” he exclaimed, his face brightening. 


DESPOTIC 


221 


“ Wliy, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur ! Let’s go down and 
meet them.” 

They descended without delay. Half-way down the hill 
they met husband and wife, no longer arm-in-arm, or side- 
hy-side, as people walk whose ideas are in common, or 
whose hearts answer each other, but several yards apart. 
Yandeleur looking on the ground, moody, sullen, abstracted, 
muttering at intervals to himself. Norah, paler even than 
common, marching far behind him with the stately step and 
downcast air, yet unsubdued, of a captive in a procession. 
Every now and then he would stop for her, speak a few 
common-place words in a cold restrained tone more 
suggestive of displeasure than the loudest reproof, and 
move on again without waiting for an answer, as if forgetful 
of her presence. For the first time since her marriage, 
Norah was to learn the nature of the yoke under which she 
had put her neck, the fetters into which she had thrust her 
feet. 

Truth to tell, Mrs. Vandeleur was a good deal frightened. 
Though of a courageous temperament, last night’s outbreak 
had made no slight impression on her nerves. Since then 
she had watched her husband’s demeanour, as the landsman 
watches an approaching storm at sea, ignorant alike of how 
it is to he met, how terrific may be its fury, and how soon 
it may break. She had no experience in such matters. 
No male voice had ever spoken to her before but in accents 
of kindliness, courtesy, even deference. How was she to 
encounter bitter taunts, savage threats, unfomided reproaches 
from the man she had sworn to love, honour, and obey ! 

He had not been to bed the previous night, but had 
entered her room at daybreak, and desired her to make 
ready at once for departure. Worn and sleepless, she had 
obeyed without question. At intervals he broke out 
against her with confused, half-spoken accusations, to which 
she thought it better not to reply, although her very silence 
furnished him with a fresh grievance. He seemed con- 
tinually on the point of saying something which would not 
out, of taking some desperate step from which he felt 
himself restrained without knowing why, and poor Norah 
quaked to think that at any moment this invisible thread 
might break, this imaginary safeguard be destroyed. 


222 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Under such uncomfortable conditions they entered the 
carriage which brought them to the railway, and it was 
only by accident Norah gathered that Heidelberg was to he 
her destination for the night. Once she ventured to inquire 
if he was going to take her to England, and Vandeleur, the 
same Vandeleur whom hitherto she had looked upon, with 
all his faults, as the perfection of a courteous gentleman, 
replied — 

‘‘ You will go wherever I choose — so long as you call 
yourself my wife ! If you think I can’t keep you clear 
of that blackguard Ainslie in England as well as in 
Germany, you will find yourself infernally mistaken. Hold 
your tongue ! ” 

After this she thought it better to ask no more questions ; 
hut what an interminable journey it seemed ! Arrived at 
Heidelberg, they sat down to a second breakfast, or an early 
luncheon, — it was all the same to Norah, for she could 
scarcely force a morsel down her throat ; and entering a 
carriage according to Vandeleur ’s desire, expressed in few 
words and those none of the kindest, this ill-matched pair 
proceeded to view the town ere they alighted for a walk up 
the hill towards the castle, silent as I have said, preoccupied, 
and twenty yards apart. I question if either of them had 
eyes for the glowing landscape, the wide immensity of 
water, wood, and wold they had ostensibly travelled so many 
leagues to see. 

Unlike those which precede matrimony, such conjugal 
tete-a-tetes are exceedingly tedious to the performers. The 
commonest acquaintance who breaks in on them is welcomed 
as a deliverer and a friend. A few weeks ago, perhaps, the 
same individual would have been received with black looks, 
short answers, and a manifest disinclination to detain him 
from any other business he might have on hand. Vande- 
leur’s countenance cleared and his whole manner changed 
when the two young men met him halfway down the hill. 
Norah, too, came to the front, and, with the noble instinct 
of woman that bids her draw the folds of her mantle to 
conceal her wounds, entered into the usual light laughing 
conversation with which people think it decent to veil 
all emotion, whether of ioy or sorrow, from their com- 
panions. 


DESPOTIC 


223 


So the young men turned back, and the whole party went 
together up the hill, and together visited the curiosities of 
the castle, ridiculing, even while they felt it most deeply, 
all the romance, all the interest of the grand old keep. As 
extremes meet, so the highest-cultured conceal their emotion 
not less sternly than the immovable savage ; and there 
are few phases of contradictory human nature more amusing 
than the cold sarcastic mirth with which an exquisite 
sensibility thinks it necessary to hide its most creditable 
feelings. Look along the stalls of any of our theatres while 
a pathetic scene is being enacted, and watch how stealthily 
people blow their noses in its most touching parts. Perhaps 
some bearded warrior, who has fronted death scores of 
times, and fancies himself above all moral and physical 
weaknesses, will rather tell a deliberate falsehood than 
acknowledge a generous sympathy, and excuses his watery 
eyes by pleading a cold in the head! 

Vandeleur was popular with young men. His air of 
good-humoured recklessness won on their fancy, and his 
reputation of having ‘‘done everything” was not without 
its charm for those who fondly thought they had got it all 
to do. He chatted with them in his old pleasant manner, 
and even altered his demeanour towards his wife. Norah 
looked at him in mute surprise. This, too, was a new phase 
in the character which she thought she had learned after a 
few months. Gradually her own spirits returned, for youth 
is very elastic and easily stimulated by such restoratives as 
scenery and sunshine. She, too, began to laugh and talk, 
showing frankly enough that she was pleased to meet her 
old friends in this remote foreign town. 

When Vandeleur asked them both to dinner at his hotel 
in little more than an hour’s time, she endorsed her 
husband’s invitation so cordially that he ground his teeth 
in a pang of unfounded jealousy, and the Dandy, who 
was apt to he sanguine on such matters, felt persuaded 
that he had at last made a favourable impression on Mrs. 
Vandeleur. 

“ She’s tired of him already, Dolly,” said he, while they 
climbed the lofty staircase that led to their bedrooms ; 
“and I’m not surprised. What right had such an old 
buffer to marry the prettiest girl in the whole country ? 


224 


THE WHITE ROSE 


You may take your oath now she wishes she had waited for 
somebody else ! ” 

“Meaning you, I suppose,” replied Dolly. “ No, no, my 
hoy. Don’t you believe it. There never was a nicer girl 
out than Miss Welby — there isn’t a better woman on earth 
than Mrs. Vandeleur. She deserves to be happy, and I hope 
and trust she is.” 

Nevertheless, discreet Dolly, entertaining a sincere 
friendship for the lady of whom he spoke so highly, was not 
half as well satisfied of her welfare as he pretended to be. 
He whistled softly to himself the whole time he was 
dressing, and shook his head at intervals with a whimsical 
air of apprehension and concern. Nay, while he put the 
finishing touch to his toilet by tying round his neck the 
narrow piece of tape that did duty for a white cravat, he 
broke out aloud into one of the misquotations in which he 
habitually indulged. 

“She’s been bewitched,” said Dolly. “Poor girl! 
Regularly bewitched, and though she has discovered it so 
soon, it’s too late. 

“ Out flew the web, and floated wide, 

The mirror cracked from side to side, 

‘ The curse is come upon me 1 ’ cried 
The Lady of Shalott ; 

‘ I promised him I’d be his bride. 

And now I’d rather not ! ’ ” 


CHAPTEE XXIX 


DANGEROUS 

It is only his due to observe that John Vandeleur was one 
of those gentlemen who, if they intended going up in a 
balloon, would take care to have it warmed, aired, and made 
thoroughly comfortable. 

He was, indeed, well used to travelling on the Continent, 
and knew better than most people with how little extra 
forethought and trouble it is possible for those who have 
plenty of money to carry with them aU the luxuries of 
home. He employed a foreign servant, too, — a perfect 
treasure, who suffered nobody to rob his master but him- 
self. A servant to whom he need only say, “We start 
to-morrow at five for Constantinople,” and everything 
would be ready at daybreak, including, perhaps, a Sultan’s 
firman waiting at the first post he should reach on the 
Turkish frontier. To whom, as on the present occasion, 
he had but to observe, “Auguste, dinner in half-an-hour ! 
Covers for four!” and Auguste would reply, “Milor” 
(he persisted in calling his master “Milor”) “shall be 
served to the minute ! ” taking care at the same time, even 
in a greasy German hotel, that the dinner should be as 
well put on the table, if not as well cooked, the wine as 
carefully iced, as at Oakover, or the Clarendon, or the 
Cafe de Paris itself. When the two guests were ushered 
by this invaluable domestic into the sitting-room occupied 
by their host and hostess, these were ready to receive them : 
Vandeleur, gentlemanlike and hospitable, as if in his own 
house ; Norah, pale and beautiful, in a high transparent 
dress that set off the symmetry of her neck and shoulders 
15 225 


226 


THE WHITE BOSE 


to perfection, her only ornaments a heavy gold bracelet at 
her wrist, a heavy gold locket on a black velvet round her 
neck, and a white rose in her dark chestnut hair. 

The husband was laughing gaily; the wife looked 
tranquil and composed. How could the arrivals guess that 
there had been another scene not ten minutes ago? — that 
the smiling gentleman extending his hand so cordially to 
the two young men, had been swearing brutally at the 
delicate lady to whom they made their bow, accusing her of 
flirting with the one and valuing the society of the other, 
as being a dear friend to her lover — hers, a married woman ! 

— but a lover whom he would take d d good care she 

should never see again ! All this, with strange mutterings, 
furious gestures, and averted eyes that never looked a 
moment in her face. 

Well, he was pleasant enough now. It was, Mr. Bm-ton, 
will you take in my wife ? Let me see, which of you two 
fellows is the eldest ? Never mind. Holly, you will come 
with me. I can’t give you a decent dinner, but the wine 
is not bad, and after our broiling walk to-day we shall 
appreciate it. I thought Norah would have fainted, she 
looked so knocked up when she came in.” 

Mrs. Vandeleur smiled rather contemptuously, and the 
party sat down, waited on by Auguste and a benevolent 
German servant, who appeared to resist with difficulty his 
desire to join in the conversation. 

They talked about England of course. English people 
always do talk as if they were within ten miles of Charing 
Cross. Burton endeavoured to interest Mrs. Yandeleur in 
his own anticipations of the London season, and she tried 
to listen as if her thoughts were not far away. Holly 
reverted to old times, to the Eectory, to Bipley Water, to 
the pupil-room at Archer’s, and her eye brightened, while 
the colour came faintly to her cheek. “ He liked that 
country,” he said, “ he liked that neighbourhood, he 
admired the scenery, he enjoyed the climate, he thought 
Oakover the nicest place he had ever seen.” 

“ I wish you could persuade Mrs. Vandeleur of all that,” 
said the host, who seemed, contrary to his usual habit, 
inclined to grow quarrelsome and argumentative. “ It’s a 
devilish odd thing — though when you’re as old as I am you’ll 


DANGEE0U8 


227 


both have seen a thousand instances of it — that no woman 
ever likes to live at her husband’s place. It’s either too 
high or too low, or the trees are too near the house, or 
there’s standing water within half a mile that makes it 
unhealthy. There never are any neighbours. It’s dull in 
the summer and cold in the winter. Or, suppose all these 
objections are got over, it’s sure to be too damp for her 
constitution in the spring.” 

“ I like Oakover very much,” observed Mrs. Vande- 
leur, quietly; ‘‘and as for the climate not agreeing with 
me, I was brought up within two miles of it, as you 
know.” 

“ Oh, you’re a pattern wife, of course,” was his answer, 
with so unpleasant a smile that it could not escape the 
observation of his guests. “It’s lucky you do like the 
place though, for we go straight back there to-morrow, I can 
tell you.” 

The young men looked at each other in consternation. 
Vaudeleur’s manner was so different from his usual easy 
good-humoured courtesy, that they were puzzled. He was 
drinking a great deal of wine too, and seemed strangely 
impatient when Auguste neglected to fill his glass. Even 
after dinner was over he continued at table, and appeared in 
no hurry to order coffee. Norah, unwilling to remain, and 
afraid to go away, sat in utter discomfort, trying to fix her 
attention on the platitudes of Dandy Burton, who bestowed 
them liberally, satisfied he was kindling a lively interest in 
the breast of his handsome hostess. The latter looked all 
the while to good-natured Dolly Egremont as her mainstay, 
feeling a certain protection in his presence while he 
remained, for something told her he would prove a true 
and loyal friend, but dreading to be left alone with her 
husband when it should be time for their guests to go away. 
Fear, however, in the female breast is seldom unaccompanied 
by the nobler emotion of anger. If her physique be equal 
to it, a high-spirited woman, like a high-couraged horse, is 
never so daring as when her nerves are excited by well- 
founded apprehension. Norah was conscious of terror, but 
her soul rose in rebellion against the unworthy and un- 
comfortable feeling, and she felt, to carry on the equine 
metaphor, that one more jerk of the bridle, one more dig 


228 


THE WHITE ROSE 


from the brutal spur, would get her head up, and rouse her 
to face anything in the world. 

The silence grew irksome ; Dandy Burton, wishing to 
break it, stumbled on the hapj^y topic of Gerard Ainslie. 
With characteristic felicity he asked point-blank whether 
his host had heard or seen anything of his fellow-pupil since 
he left Mr. Archer’s ? 

Yandeleur grinned maliciously at his wife. 

“ I’m soiTy you’ve inquired,” said he. “ I ought to tell 
you all about him. I ought to warn you against him. We 
left him at Homburg literally begging his bread.” Dolly 
half rose from his chair, as if to be off that moment by the 
train for Frankfort, and I think Mrs. Vandeleur liked him 
none the worse for this sudden movement, which she 
probably understood. “You need not pity him; neither 
of you. He has done everything that is had. He has 
turned out a thorough blackguard. No lady ought even to 
mention his name. He can never look a gentleman in the 
face again.” 

Dolly had got as far as “ It’s impossible ! ” when he 
was silenced by Mrs. Vandeleur. 

“You dare not say it to his face!” exclaimed Norah, 
flushing crimson and turning very pale again in a moment ; 
“ and it is cowardly to say it behind his hack. Yes, 
cowardly, Mr. Vandeleur, and unworthy of a man 1 Mr. 
Ainslie has been unfortunate, more unfortunate than I can 
describe ; hut I tell you, and I tell these old friends of his, 
that I will not believe a word you say against him ; that 
whatever may have been his follies, he has never been guilty 
of a low or a mean action, and I will pledge all I have in 
the world that his sense of honour is as high and as 
untarnished as my own.” 

With a how to be divided between her guests, and a 
stare of haughty defiance for her husband’s exclusive 
benefit, with head up, measured gait, proud gestures, 
and sweeping draperies, Mrs. Vandeleur marched out of 
the room and disappeared. 

Burton and Egremont looked in each other’s faces aghast. 
Vandeleur became almost purple, but recovered himself 
creditably enough, and burst out into a forced laugh. 

“ Bachelors both I ” said he, pushing a bottle of claret 


DANGEROUS 


229 


across the table, if you’re wise, you’ll remain so. Ladies 
have their tantrums, as you’ll probably find out some day. 
Mrs. Yandeleur isn’t at all well just at present. There’s 
no end of steel in those waters at Homhurg, and this air is 
much too bracing ; that is why I am taking her to England. 
Have some more claret, and then we’ll smoke a quiet weed 
before we part.” 

In common decency the guests were obliged to remain a 
little longer, hut the claret seemed flavourless, the con- 
versation flagged, and, after a cup of coffee, they were only 
too happy to take their departure. 

As they threaded the long comdor of the hotel, Dolly 
whispered to his friend — 

“ We’ve spent a deuced unpleasant evening, to my mind, 
and I’m sorry for it. You can’t call that a ‘ dinner of 
herbs,’ my hoy. Well, matrimony’s a noble institution, 
no doubt ; hut what we’ve seen to-day is discouraging, and 
I don’t feel the better for it.” 

‘‘What can you expect? ” answered the other. “He’s 
much too old for her, and she hates him. How handsome 
she looked when she walked out ! Let us go and smoke 
in the court, Dolly. It is cool there, and a beautiful 
starlight night.” 

So the two went down into the courtyard, surrounded on 
three sides by the hotel, and on the fourth by the stables. 
It wanted still some hom’S of midnight, and even the honest 
early German folks had not yet retired to rest. Lights 
were gleaming from many of the windows, standing open to 
let in the fresh night-air. Dolly and Burton, smoking 
their cigars, wondered lazily which were those of Mrs. 
Vandelem', and pursued the thread of their conversation. 

“I thought his eyes were very queer,” observed Burton, 
after expressing an unflattering opinion that Mr. Yandeleur 
had aged very much in the last few months. “ And his 
voice seemed changed. He mopped up his champagne, 
though, pretty freely. Do you suppose now, he could have 
been drunk ? ” 

“Drunk? Not he!” answered Dolly. “There’s no 
stronger-headed fellow out than Yandeleur, nor a less 
excitable one. Depend upon it, he knows what he’s 
about. Hark! what’s that?” 


230 


THE WHITE BOSE 


What, indeed ! A confused wi-angle of voices, raised to 
an angry pitch — an altercation — a quarrel. Dolly’s sharp 
ears caught Mrs. Vandeleur’s tones, eager, excited, in 
accents of scorn, expostulation, then entreaty — lastly, 
terror ! 

The two listeners sprang across the court, and stood for 
a moment spell-bound, beneath the windows of a brightly- 
lighted apartment on the second floor. The rooms below 
were very lofty, and it was not easy to hear what went on 
within an upper chamber so high above the ground. 

Shadows passing rapidly to and fro traversed the wall 
opposite the broad open casement. 

Hoarse, as with mad fmy long suppressed, a whisper 
hissed down into the court — 

‘‘ By h— 11, 1 will ! I’ll strangle you ! ” 

Then a long, wild, ringing shriek, and dashing into the 
house for a rescue, Dolly, closely followed by his friend, 
came in collision, at the door, with Mrs. Vandeleur in 
her night-dress, her hair down, her feet bare, her whole 
appearance denoting extremity of terror and dismay. 

“ Save me ! save me ! ” screamed Norah, clinging to Dolly 
like a terrified child. ‘‘ He’ll kill me ! — ^he’s raving mad ! 
Help him, somebody ! ” she added, beginning to sob as her 
courageous nature re-asserted itself. ‘‘ Help him ! — perhaps 
he’ll kill himself! ” 

Even while she spoke they heard a rushing sound, 
followed by a dull dead hump on the paved sm’face of 
the court. Norah’s strength failed her now. Already the 
hotel was alarmed. Lights were glancing, and servants 
running about in all directions. They covered Mrs. 
Vandeleur with a cloak, and carried her off unresisting, 
for she had fainted away. 

“ It’s all over I ” said Burton, as the hand he lifted fell 
lifeless and inert across Vandeleur’s bruised and mangled 
body, lying in a pool of blood. ‘‘ Stark naked, too ! ” he 
added, looking down at the ghastly mass. “ And to jump 
from such a height! He must have been as mad as 
Bedlam ! ” 

He must indeed ! That poor terrified woman, now 
happily insensible, could have told them how her husband 
forced himself into her chamber, raving at her with a 


DANGEBOUS 


231 


maniac’s incoherent fury, tearing off article after article 
of clothing as he stormed ; how he hunted her into the 
sitting-room, threatening her every moment with a horrible 
death ; how she reached the door, in which the key, with 
its numeral attached, had been fortunately left on the 
outside, and turned it on him ere she fled ; lastly, how 
to her dying day she would be haunted by the dire horror 
that this act of self-defence had caused him to leap through 
the window into the courtyard below ! 

It was well for Mrs. Vandeleur that she had a true friend 
like Egi-emont to stand by her in this sad crisis of her life. 
Everything that could be done for her comfort was atten- 
ded to by kind-hearted, sympathising Dolly, and it was 
only at her repeated entreaties, and the considerations of 
propriety she strongly urged — for Norah never lost the 
habit of thinking for herself — that he consented to prose- 
cute his journey with Burton next day, and left her to the 
charge of an English physician resident in the town. The 
following paragraph appeared in Galignaiii within a week 
of the accident : — 

Deploi'ahle Catastrophe at Heidelberg and Supposed 
Suicide of a Gentleman. — On Friday last, this romantic old 
town was startled by one of those awful calamities which 
occur at intervals to rouse us from the apathy of conven- 
tional life. An English gentleman of high position, 
accompanied by his lady, and attended by several domestics, 
arrived in the early train from Frankfort to take up his 
quarters at the Rheinische-Hof. After visiting the castle 
and other objects of interest in the neighbourhood, he sat 
down to dinner with a few friends, who parted from him at 
an early hour apparently in his usual health and spirits. 
About midnight the inmates of the hotel were alarmed by 
the screams of his lady, and it was found that the un- 
fortunate gentleman had precipitated himself from an 
upper-floor window into the courtyard below. Dr. Drum 
of Heidelberg was promptly on the spot, but medical skill 
proved necessarily unavailing in so frightful a catastrophe. 
Continued ill-luck at the play-tables of Homburg is 
rumoured to have been the cause of this rash act ; and 
when we mention the name of the victim as John Vandeleur, 
Esq., of Oakover, in the county of , we leave our 


232 


TEE WHITE BOSE 


readers to infer how enomious must have been the 
pecuniary losses that could thus drive the owner of a 
princely fortune into the commission of so awful and 
irrevocable a crime . — Quem Deus vult pe7'dere prius 
dementat ! ” 

This paragraph, quotation and all, found its way into 
the London papers, and his old associates in clubs or such 
places of public resort talked about “poor Vandeleur ” for 
a day or two, and forgot him. “ Married, wasn’t he? and 
for the second time?” said the Club-world. “Ah! he 
was always as mad as a hatter 1 Very pretty girl, was 
she? Clergyman’s daughter somewhere near his own 
place, and thirty years younger than himself ! Ah 1 I 
wish she had jumped out of the window instead of him, 
and I’d been underneath to catch her I ” 

And this was Vandeleur ’s “ Requiescat m pace / ” 


CHAPTER XXX 


A woman’s work 

I REMEMBER long Rgo to havo witnossod a thrilling drama 
called, if my memory serves me, by the appalling title of 
The Vampire^ the continuity of which was entrusted, with 
blind confidence in their powers of ideality, to the imagina- 
tion of an English audience. Between its acts, while the 
orchestra played the “ Galop ” in Gustavus, while you 
rose in your stall, turned round to survey the house, wiped 
your glasses, and sat down again, an interval of fifty years 
or more was supposed to elapse. I wull not call upon my 
readers for quite so elastic a stretch. I will only ask them 
to imagine that more than a lustre, say rather less than 
two, has passed away since the quiet of the Bheinische-Hof 
at Heidelberg was disturbed by the eccentricities of its 
English visitors — such a period as makes but little differ- 
ence in om’ own feelings, or our own appearance, but sadly 
thins our male friends’ hair, and plays the deuce with the 
skin and teeth of the woman we adore — such a period as 
scatters over the world almost any party of half-a-dozen, 
however staunch and cohesive it may have boasted its 
immutability — such a period as has materially altered the 
fortunes and position of each individual in our story. Per- 
haps of none more than Gerard Ainslie, destined as it 
would seem to fill the part of that “ rolling stone” which 
proverbially ‘‘gathers no moss”; though why any stone, 
rotatory or at rest, should be the better for that vegetable 
covering, I leave for explanation to those who are more 
discerning in the wisdom of proverbs than myself. 

Gerard, then, ruined and almost broken-hearted, must 

233 


234 


THE WHITE ROSE 


have had no resource left but for a sum of money received 
through Messrs. Goldsmith, from a banker at Heidelberg, 
to be delivered into the young man’s own hand, on receipt 
of an undertaking in writing that he would leave Hom- 
burg and its temptations within an hour. The conditions 
were necessarily accepted, and Gerard, penniless but for 
this timely assistance, found himself cast on the world with 
a few pounds indeed in his pocket, hut a very vague idea of 
where he was to get any more when these were spent. 

There was a refuge, however, for the destitute in those 
days, and a resource for the desperate, of which we hear 
but little now. Some few years ago when a man thrust 
his hands in his trousers pockets, to find them empty, he 
borrowed all he could get from the friend who would pay 
highest to get rid of him (generally a relative, or one on 
whom he had some claim of kindred or gratitude), bought 
two red shirts and a revolver, took a steerage passage in a 
“ Black Ball Liner,” and was off to the gold-diggings ! 

The plan had many advantages ; not the least of them 
being the probability that the adventurer would never come 
back. 

So this young gentleman, who had scarcely done a day’s 
work in his life, made his way to the modern El Dorado, 
to cook, and dig, and wield a pickaxe, and shake a riddle 
till his back ached, alternating these labours with the 
nursing of a sick comrade or two, and a narrow squeak for 
his own life from cholera, followed by a prostrating attack 
of fever and ague. 

But it was just such a training as was wanted to make a 
man of him. Who would have believed that the bearded, 
bronzed, powerful-looking fellow sitting over a wood fire at 
night, with three or four miners, not a whit more rough- 
looking customers than himself, turning a “ damper ” in 
the embers, holding a short black pipe between his teeth, 
could be the white-handed Gerard Ainslie, of Mr. Archer’s 
pupil-room, and the depot of the 250th regiment of the 
line ? WTho would have supposed, while the deep manly 
voice of a comrade trolled out how 


They fitted a grey marble slab to her tomb, 
A-pd fair Alice lies under the stone,” 


A WOMAN’S WONK 


236 


that the drop caught in that shaggy beard, and glistening 
in the fire-light, was a tribute of memory to the delicate 
beauty of pale, haughty Mrs. Vandelem% how many 
thousand miles away ? Tears, indeed ! There were plenty 
of bold hearts there with a spot in them soft enough to 
be stirred by that plaintive ditty; and many a daring, 
desperate man, sitting over his camp-fire within hearing 
of “ Ben Bolt,” was crying too, like a woman or a child. 

But they worked fourteen hours a day, nevertheless, and 
Gerard found himself at San Francisco with eleven hundred 
pounds in his pocket, and his heart eaten by that home- 
sickness which is so apt to attack the wanderer just when 
his fortunes are on the turn, and it is folly to think of 
going back so soon. 

Here the demon of play took hold of him once more, and 
he lost nearly half his gains in a single venture. But it 
cured him. The man was altered now. His whole charac- 
ter was hardened and improved. He had been living for 
months together with his life in his hands. He had earned 
every penny he got literally with the sweat of his brow. 
He had shed blood in self-defence without scruple, but he 
had nursed more than one staunch friend through deadly 
sickness with the gentle tenderness of a woman. He had 
lost the selfishness that makes a man a gambler. With 
him, indeed, it had been the selfishness of too plastic and 
impressionable a nature ; but it was gone. He had been 
through the fire, and was forged, so to speak, and tempered 
into steel : yet one image, that of Norah Welby, the fair 
young girl he remembered so vividly under the cedar at her 
father’s parsonage, was bmmt all the deeper and more 
indelibly into his heart. It kept him pure through many a 
scene of vice and temptation ; if not a happier, he felt that 
it made him a better man ; and, as he sometimes told 
himself with a sigh, it could never be effaced. 

Gerard Ainslie played no more after his loss at San 
Francisco, but he abandoned all intention of returning at 
once to England, and ventured his remaining six hundred 
on a speculation of sheep-farming, which seemed promising 
enough, in Vancouver’s Island. For a year or two he 
prospered wonderfully. His farm flourished, his flocks and 
herds increased, he erected water-mills, he hired emigrants 


236 


THE WHITE ROSE 


from the Scottish Highlands who were not afraid of work, 
and entered fairly on the high road to fortune. He had 
even taken to himself an overseer, and considered he was 
entitled to a few weeks’ sporting relaxation in the bush. 
So he started on a two months’ expedition, killed very little 
game, and returned to find himself a ruined man. His 
overseer had sickened and died. His Highland emigrants 
had neglected everything. The rot had broken out amongst 
his sheep, and the murrain had swept off his cattle. Worse 
than all, a flood had come down to spoil his crops, and had 
carried away the mills in which he had sunk nearly his 
whole capital. The wreck of his little fortunes barely 
enabled him to return to the diggings, and begin again, 
richer only in experience than when he came out from 
England many years before. 

But men get used to hard usage from Fortune, as from 
any other foe. After the second time or so, nobody cares 
a fig for a knock-down blow, moral or physical. Gerard 
was man enough to feel thankful now that Norah’s happi- 
ness was in no way dependent on his exertions ; that she 
was comfortable, well provided for, and had almost forgotten 
him. Not quite : he would not have her forget him quite. 
So he took to the mattock again with a will, but it was up- 
hill work this time. Most of the holes he tried were worn 
out, and once (a rare occurrence) he was robbed by his 
mate ; but, after many fluctuations, he found himself at last 
with wrinkles about his eyes, and a few grey hairs in his 
brown beard, on board a noble packet-ship, plunging gal- 
lantly before the trades, homeward bound ! 

His passage was paid ; he had a few dollars in a pocket- 
book for mess expenses, and two hundred pounds in gold 
sewed into a belt, which he wore under his shirt. He 
would not be robbed by comrade or shipmate a second time. 
And this modest sum represented as many years of labour, 
as much of privation and self-denial, as have sometimes 
gone to the acquisition of half-a-million ! 

The good ship ran her knots off handsomely enough, and 
about daybreak on a spring morning came alongside the 
quay at Liverpool, to discharge, first her passengers, and 
then the cargo of wool and tallow with which she floated 
deep in the water. For the accommodation of the former. 


A WOMAN’S WOBK 


^7 

an inclined plane, consisting of a slippery plank or two, 
with a lofty hand-rail, was hastily thrust upward; and 
along this insecure gangway the steerage passengers, 
following each other like a flock of sheep, slipped, and 
climbed, and stumbled to the shore. Gerard was in no 
hurry, but drifted onward with the others, his little valise 
in his hand, the belt that carried all his worldly wealth 
round his waist. Immediately in front of him was a 
woman returning to England with two fatherless children 
— the one in her arms, the other, an urchin of scarcely four 
years old, clinging to the skirts of her dirty cotton gown. 
The little fellow seemed bewildered by the crush, confusion, 
and novelty of the situation ; he had forgotten what land 
was like, and his poor short legs were cramped and numbed 
by long confinement on board ship. He missed his footing, 
let go of his mother’s gown, and passing easily under the 
handrail, tumbled headlong into six fathom of water in the 
dock-basin. It was a ghastly face that turned on Gerard’s 
under the grey light of early morning ; but in the mother’s 
wild, hopeless, tortured stare he read what had happened 
almost before the scream rose on her pale, parted lips, and 
the splash below subsided into eddying circles of green, 
bubbling water. 

He never thought twice about it. Ere they could heave 
a rope’s-end from the quay, he was overboard too, diving 
after a wisp of white that eluded his reach, like a streak of 
dim, distant light in a dream. The seconds are veiy long 
under water. It seemed an age before he could grasp it ; 
but he rose at last, child and all, to the surface, the lighter 
that his belt had given way, and the whole of his two 
hundred sovereigns were buried far below the good ship’s 
keel — a ransom, and a cheap one, as he swore directly he 
got his breath, for the poor, innocent little life. 

They had him, with his pale, limp burden clinging to his 
neck, in the bight of a rope the instant he appeared ; and 
they cheered him, those honest sailors, with a will. Nay, 
they even raised a modest subscription amongst themselves, 
when they learned his loss, that brought the tears into his 
eyes. While the half-frantic mother, who had nothing to 
give but her prayers, knelt at his feet on the hard quay, 
and kissed his brown, weather-beaten hands, calling him 


238 


THE WHITE BOSE 


an angel from heaven all the time ! And so he was to her 
the good angel of deliverance, for whom she taught her 
children, too, to pray such prayers as I think are never 
offered up in vain. 

Thus it was that Gerard Ainslie touched English ground 
once more, as poor in worldly goods as when he left it, hut 
rich in a fund of self-control and self-reliance, not to 
mention the glow of a gallant action, and the praise of a 
few stout, honest, kindly hearts. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


“AFTER LONG YEARS 

I AM persuaded that in our English climate, and under the 
conditions of our social existence, so favourable to their 
ascendancy, women wear considerably better than men. I 
know such an opinion is rank heresy with the multitude, 
and that it is held an established axiom, though I am 
ignorant how it can be borne out by common-sense, that a 
woman is virtually older than a man of the same age. The 
truth of this assertion I emphatically deny. Go into any 
London drawing-room, or other gathering of the upper 
classes, and while there is no mistaking the men of forty, 
you will find it impossible, judging by appearance, to guess 
any of the women’s ages within ten years. The same 
argTiment holds good, though in a modified degree, at a 
country merry-making or a fair. Jack, when his eighth 
lustre is quivering on its close, shows marks of time and 
hard usage far more plainly than Gill, and finds himself 
bent, grey, and wrinkled, while she remains brown, comely, 
and “ upright as a bolt.” 

The years, then, with their recurring hardships and 
vicissitudes, that scored lines on Gerard Ainslie’s brow, and 
left little silver threads about his temples, had but developed 
Norah Vandeleur’s beauty into the grace and majesty of 
mature womanhood. While she retained all her girlish 
symmetry of form, she had acquired a certain dignity of 
gait and bearing that would have become a queen. While 
her mere physical charms had lost nothing of their colour 
and freshness, the deep eyes, the rare smile, had gained 
such powers of fascination as spring from a cultivated 


240 


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intellect : alas! too often, also, from a saddened, suffering 
heart. 

“Isn’t she beautiful? But she doesn’t look happy!” 
Such was the verdict in every society she entered. Such 
was the expression of admiration, so qualified, from nine 
out of every ten people who turned round to look at her as 
she walked through a room. 

With great personal advantages, with a subdued, grace- 
ful, and exceedingly natural manner, it required but a very 
few London seasons to establish Mrs. Vandeleur as one of 
the best known and most eagerly sought after of those 
beautiful ornaments whom people are always anxious to see 
on their staircases, in their reception-rooms, and at their 
pleasantest dinner-parties. Strange to say, the women 
did not hate her half so rancorously as might have been 
expected. At first, indeed, the appearance in their 
cruising-grounds of a craft so trim, so taut, so formidable 
as a privateer, and carrying guns calculated to do such 
execution, roused resistance, no less than apprehension, 
and they prepared to combine against her with that 
energetic animosity, devoid of scruple, ruth, or fair play, 
which is so commendable a feature in their warfare on 
their own sex. 

But when they found, as they soon did, that the beauti- 
ful, rakish-looking schooner was averse to piracy, and 
careless of plunder ; when they saw her dismiss the prizes 
that ran so eagerly under her bows, contemptuously indeed, 
and with little good-will, but obviously as scorning nothing 
more than the notion of towing them into port ; when, to 
speak plainly, they discovered that Mrs. Vandeleur cared 
as little for the homage of mankind in general, including 
their own faithless adorers, as for all the rest of the glitter 
by which she was surrounded, looking, as indeed she felt, 
a good deal bored with the whole thing, they declared, 
first, neutrality, then adhesion, soon protested that it was 
better to have her for a friend than an enemy, and finally 
paid her the high compliment of voting her one of 
themselves. 

She had taken a charming little house in Belgravia, of 
which the door seemed always fresh painted, and the bell- 
handles lately gilt. Her footmen were tall and well 


AFTEB LONG YEARS 


241 


powdered, her horses stepped up to their noses, and her 
carriages looked as if they went every year to be ‘‘ done 
up ” at the coachmaker’s. A pair of those valuable horses, 
one of those well-varnished carriages, was to be seen every 
night in the season waiting for Mrs. Vandeleur, wherever 
there was a gathering of the smartest people in London. 
These assemblages are not always intensely amusing. I 
believe coachman and horses were less delighted to drive 
home than the mistress herself. Nevertheless, one year 
after another found her going the same monotonous round, 
— flattered, admired, courted, lonely, wearied, wondering 
why she did it, and vowing every season should be her 
last. 

People thought it ‘‘so odd Mrs. Vandeleur didn’t 
marry ! ” and more than one spendthrift, faultless in attire 
and irresistible in manners, took upon himself, at short 
notice, to ask the question from a personal point of view. 
I never heard that any of these could complain of not 
receiving a sufficiently explicit answer. But an elderly 
nobleman, with an unencumbered rent-roll and a grown-up 
family, who really admired her for herself, took her rebuff 
so much to heart that he left London forthwith, though in 
the middle of June, and was seen no more till the last 
fortnight in July. 

Perhaps this disconsolate suitor, whose first wife had 
been what is popularly called “ a Tartar,” studied Mrs. 
Vandelem-’s character with more attention than the rest. 
He used to puzzle himself as to why it was he got on so 
much better with her in general society than alone. He 
used even to fancy that if his love-making could only be 
done across a dinner-table, he might have a chance of 
success ; but you can’t tell a woman you are getting too 
fond of her for your own happiness — which I imagine is as 
good a way of opening the trenches as any other — through 
an epergne and a quantity of ferns ! He used to marvel 
why, in a tete-a-tete^ she was so conventional, so guarded, 
so chilling, absent, too, in manner, whatever he might say, 
as if she was thinking of something else. Above all would 
he have given his earldom to know what it was, or whom, 
that those deep, dreamy eyes were looking at, through, and 
far beyond his own goodly person — far beyond the Venetian 


242 


THE WHITE BOSE 


blinds in the window, his brougham in the street, and his 
brother-in-law’s house over the way. 

“ So, you see, a good many people were in love with 
handsome Mrs. Vandeleur, all in their different styles ; for 
the epidemic, though dangerous, no doubt, in some cases, 
attacks its victims in various dissimilar forms. With one it 
produces a deep and abiding sore, burning, festering, eating 
its pernicious way into the quick ; with another it becomes 
a low fever, dispiriting, querulous, prostrating body and 
mind alike ; while from you or me it may pass away in a 
slight local inflammation, best cured by tonics, anodynes, 
or perhaps the homoeopathic remedy of a counter-irritant. 

When it has taken deep root in the system, and can 
withstand the wholesome influence of absence, change of 
scene, and fresh faces, I had rather not prescribe for it. 
There is, indeed, one specific left, proverbially iiTemediable 
as death, and it is called Marriage ; but I will not take 
upon myself to affirm that even this last resource, desperate 
though it be, would prove successful in some of the more 
fatal cases that have come under my notice. 

With all her noble, well-dressed, well-known lovers and 
admirers, it may be that Mrs. Vandeleur had none so 
unselfish, so devoted, so true as Gerard Ainslie, in his 
obscure lodgings and his shabby clothes — Gerard Ainslie, 
who for all these long years had never looked upon her face 
but in his dreams, and yet to whom, sleeping or waking, 
that dear face was ever present, pale, delicate, and beautiful 
as of old. This idea — for it was but an idea, after all — 
had grown to be the one refinement of his life, the one link 
that connected him with the other pleasant world which he 
began to remember but dimly, to which he saw no prospect 
that he would ever return. 

He had come to London, of course, and vdth a certain 
sensation of honest pride that at least he had been no 
burden to his relation, sought out his great-uncle to ask, 
not for assistance, but a simple recommendation and 
assurance that he was an honest man. The old gentleman 
had married his housekeeper, and the door was shut in 
Gerard’s face. He turned rather bitterly away, and for a 
moment wished himself back in Vancouver’s Island; but he 
was accustomed to hard usage now. He had a pound or 


^AFTEB LONG YEABS 


243 


two in his pocket, and his training during the last few years 
had made of the eager, impulsive stripling a strong, 
persistent man. 

He determined not to break in on his little store till he 
could use it to advantage. That same afternoon he earned 
a supper and a bed unloading one of the lighters at a wharf 
below bridge. The men who worked with him were little 
rougher than some of his mates at the diggings — more 
vicious, perhaps, certainly not so courteous, and less 
reckless ; but he shared his tobacco and drank his beer 
with them contentedly enough. Nay, he engaged himself 
at good wages for a fortnight’s spell at the same labour, 
which did him a deal of good, and put a few more shillings 
in his pocket. These kept him while he tried his hand at 
a little authorship for the penny papers, and then he 
resolved to embark all his capital, something short of five 
pounds, in another venture. There was nothing of the 
gambler left in Gerard now but the cool courage of a wise 
speculator, whose experience tells him when it is justifiable 
to risk all. 

So he invested in a suit of clothes, such as he had not 
worn for years. Scanning himself in the tailor’s full- 
length glass, he could not forbear a smile. 

“It’s odd enough,” he muttered. “I’ll be hanged if I 
don’t look like a gentleman still ! ” And so he did; and 
so thought the editor of The Holborn Gazette and Sporting 
Telegraph for the East End, when the unsuccessful gold- 
digger stepped into the office of that wonderful journal to 
offer his contributions with as much indifference as if he had 
been a duke. Truth to tell, he cared little whether they 
were accepted or not, having in his heart a hankering 
preference, which common-sense told him was ill-judged, 
for the out-of-door labour and rough hard-working life on 
the river. 

The editor, a man of observation, could not believe that 
weather-browned face and those large muscular shoulders 
were of the fraternity who live by wielding the pen. So 
well-developed a frame, clad in broad-cloth, instead of 
fustian, could only belong to the classes who have leisure 
to spend their time in open-air pursuits for pleasure, rather 
than profit. Amd as it is notorious that a man who can 


244 


THE WHITE BOSE 


make his own terms always has the best of the bargain, 
Gerard Ainslie walked out into the street with an assurance 
of employment that would at least keep him from starving. 

And now, I think, came the unhappiest part of his life. 
His work was distasteful, and he got through it with 
difficulty. The profits enabled him, indeed, to live, hut 
that was all. He had no society of any kind, and often 
found himself pining for the rough cordiality and boisterous 
mii-th of the gold-seekers ; for the deep voices, the jolly 
songs, the glare of the camp-fires, the fragrant fumes of the 
“ honey-dew,” and the tot of rum that passed from beard to 
beard, with an oath, perhaps, but an oath as expressive of 
good-fellowship and good-will as a blessing. 

A cup of weak tea, in a two-pair back, seemed but a 
mild exchange for the old roy storing life, after all. His 
health failed, his cheek grew hollow, and he began to 
assume the appearance of a worn-out broken-down man. 
About this period Gerard very nearly took to drinking. He 
was saved by an accident, resulting indeed, from the very 
habit he was disposing himself to acquire. When work was 
over, he would go to dinner, as dine he must, at the nearest 
tavern. Without absolutely exceeding, he would then sit 
smoking and sipping, smoking and sipping, till it was time to 
go to bed. What could he do ? It was his only relaxation. 
To spend the night at a theatre was hot and expensive ; to 
walk the streets, cold and uncomfortable ; besides, it wore 
his boots out. He tried “Evans’s ” more than once ; but 
Mr. Green was so courteous and agreeable, the singing 
so ravishing, the cave of harmony so comfortable, that it 
led him into the disbursement of more small change than 
he could afford. So he relapsed into such dull, stupid, 
sleepy evenings as I have described. They told on his 
dress, his constitution, and his appearance. One night, 
after he had exhausted the evening papers, a neighbour 
leaving the next table, handed him the Morning Post, a 
journal good enough to devote whole columns to recording 
the amusements of the aristocracy, and obtaining in conse- 
quence a vast circulation about the West-End of London, 
though rarely to he found in any of the chop-houses near 
the Strand. Glancing his eye wearily over the “Fashion- 
able Intelligence,” Gerard started to see Mrs. Vandeleur’s 


AFTEB LONG YEARS 


245 


name amongst a hundred others, as having been at the 
opera the night before. He sprang to his feet, threw away 
his half-smoked cigar, and finished his gin-and-water at a 
gulp. She was in London, then ! Actually in the same 
town with himself ! Perhaps not half a mile off at that 
moment ! And then the cold, sickening thought came over 
him, that he, the ruined, shabby, vagrant penny-a-liner, 
was separated as effectually here, from the rich, high-bred, 
fashionable lady, as if the Pacific still rolled between them, 
and he was again sifting gravel in his red shirt, to find the 
gold he had never coveted so eagerly as now. 

But the burning thirst came on him once more — the 
feverish, ungovernable longing to look on that face again. 
He would have sold his life, he thought, almost his soul, 
but to see her for a minute. He could not rest ; he could 
not sit still. The evening was far advanced, but he 
wandered out into the streets, with the wild notion, which 
yet carried a vague happiness, that he was in search of 
Norah ; that, come what might, he would at least stand 
face to face with her again. His own weary footstep, once 
so quick and active, still reminded him of those walks 
across the Marshes, in the happy day, when life was all 
before him, and hope had something to offer better than 
wealth, or honour, or renown. It seemed but yesterday ; 
and yet the contrast between then and now smote him 
with a pity for himself that filled his eyes with tears. 
They did him good : they cleared his brain, and he grew 
practical once more. 

He was determined to see Norah, no doubt ; but he must 
find out where she lived ; and for that purpose he entered 
a stationer’s shop in Bond Street, not yet closed, bought a 
pennyworth of note-paper — which left him exactly a 
shilling in his pocket — and asked leave to look in the 
“Court Guide.” 

He did not need to hunt far down the V’s for the name 
he wanted ; and in less than twenty minutes, without 
considering what he should do next, he found himself at 
Mrs. Vandeleur’s door. 

It was something to feel the possibility of her being 
within ten yards of the spot where he stood; but his 
wandering life, with all its vicissitudes, had not rooted out 


246 


THE WHITE BOSE 


a regard for those inexorable convenances which are 
stronger than gates of triple brass and bars of steel. How 
could he ask to see Mrs. Vandeleur at nine o’clock in the 
evening ? he in his now shabby hat and worn-out clothes ! 
Why, the servant would probably send for a constable to 
order him away ! No, he must trust to chance and time ; 
patient and weary, like a “ painter ” crouching for its 
spring, or a hunter waiting at a salt-lick ” for a deer. 

He had made several turns opposite the house, and had, 
indeed, attracted the attention of an observant policeman, 
when one of the many postal deliveries with which our 
leism’e hours are cm’sed came to his assistance. A powdered 
head rose from Mrs. Vandeleur’s area to the level of the 
postman’s feet, and a simpering face grinned through the 
railings. 

“ Kohert Smart ? ” asked the Government functionary, 
stern and abrupt, as behoves one whose time is precious. 

“Eohert Smart it is!” answered the footman, and 
immediately tore open the envelope thrust into his hand. 
It was a ship letter, written on thin paper. 

Gerard had found his opportunity, and now drew a bow 
at a venture. 

“Is your name Smart?” said he, stopping short, and 
looking at the man as if he saw something in his face that 
he recognised. “ Haven’t you a brother at Ballarat? If 
so, I’ve seen him within a twelvemonth.” 

“ No 1 ” answered the man, grinning again with surprise 
and gratification ; “ hut I’ve a cousin there of my own 
name. I’ve got this here letter from him just now.” 

Gerard had picked up some experience knocking about 
the world. “I can tell you all about him,” said he, “for 
I knew him well. If you’re only half as good a chap as 
your cousin, I dare say you’ll step round and take a tooth- 
ful of something short to our better acquaintance. I little 
thought my old pal’s cousin would be one of the first friends 
I should meet in this great rambling town.” 

Such an invitation was too tempting to he refused. Mr. 
Smart had but to return indoors for his coat, and make 
some arrangements with an under-housemaid, contrary to 
the standing orders of the establishment, as to answering 
the door-hell. Ere many minutes elapsed, the footman 


AFTEB LONG YEAB8 


247 


was deep in a quartern of gin-and-cloves, purchased with 
his last shilling by his new acquaintance. 

Communicative and affable, Mr. Smart soon informed 
Gerard of Mrs. Vandeleur’s present whereabouts and future 
movements. She was dining with a “h’earl,” as he called 
it, near St. James’s Square, and was going thence to Lady 
Billesdon’s party. He knew it, though he was himself off 
duty that night, because the carriage was ordered to fetch 
her at eleven, and she was not coming home to dress, but 
going straight on from her dinner to the hall. Eleven 
o’clock he was sure, for he carried the order himself to the 
coachman, who “ cussed horrible ” ; and wouldn’t his new 
friend take his share of another quartern at his, Mr. 
Smart’s, expense? 

But his new friend left him more abruptly than he con- 
sidered compatible with good manners, for eleven was 
already striking. Gerard hurried off to the “h’earl’s,” in 
the vicinity of St. James’s Square, but he was too late. 
Then he walked up and down all night, and waited till 
morning dawned, and so saw Mrs. Yandeleur get into her 
carriage to go home ; nay, had the additional felicity of 
picking off the pavement a certain white rose she dropped, 
to lay it inside his threadbare old waistcoat, next his 
heart. 

This was the man I saw leaning against the street-railings 
in strong suppressed emotion when I myself was leaving 
Lady Billesdon’s hospitable mansion after her charming 
ball ; and thus, having brought my story back to the point 
from which it started, I must take what seafaring men call 
a fresh departure,” and proceed henceforth in regular 
order through the succeeding chapters. 


CHAPTER XXXII 

MR. BARRINGTON-BELGRAVE 

A MAN who is leading an unhealthy life at any rate, and 
who walks about the streets all night under strong feelings 
of anxiety and agitation, becomes faint and exhausted 
towards sunrise, and disposed to look favourably even on 
such humble refreshment as may be procured at an early 
coffee-stall. Passing one of these, Gerard, feeling in his 
pockets for the coin he knew was not forthcoming, cast 
certain wistful glances at a cup of the smoking beverage, 
which were not lost on the customer for whom it had been 
poured out — an individual of remarkable, not to say 
eccentric, demeanom* and appearance, oddly cloaked, oddly 
booted, oddly hatted, majestic in manners, and somewhat 
shabby in dress. 

Diffusing around him an odour of tobacco and brandy, 
this personage stopped Gerard with an elaborate bow. 

“Permit me, sir,” he said, in a deep hoarse voice ; “I 
have discovered, perhaps, the hottest and strongest coffee 
made in the metropolis. Will you allow me to offer you a 
cup in the way of kindness ? At my expense, you under- 
stand, sir, at my expense ! ” 

Gerard accepted courteously. The man’s manner changed, 
and he looked hard in the other’s face. 

“An early bird,” said he, folding his shabby cloak across 
his breast as a Roman drapes himself in his toga on the 
stage ; “an early bird, sir, like myself. I make you my 
compliments, as we say over the water. There is a fresh- 
ness in the morning air, and to me nature, the mighty 


MB. BABBINGTON-BELGBAVE 


249 


mother of creation, in all her moods, is still expansive, still 
sublime.” 

They were standing at Hyde Park Corner, and he 
pointed down Grosvenor Place with the air of one who 
was indicating the snowy range of the Himalayas, for 
instance, to a friend who had just come gasping up to 
Simla from the plains. 

“Early indeed,” answered Gerard, laughing, “for I 
have not been to bed.” 

The other hiccoughed, and sucked in a long pull of his 
hot coffee. 

“ You take me,” said he, “you take me. A man after 
my own heart, sir — a kindred spirit — a gentleman too — 

excuse me ” Here he lifted his hat with a grace that 

was only spoilt by the limp state of its brim. “ A man of 
mark, no doubt, and a justice of peace in your own county, 
simple as you stand here — hey ? Not been to bed, say 
you? Marry, sir, no more have I. Will you come and 
break your fast with me? Now, at once, here, close at 
hand. I bid you for sheer good-will. But stay — this is 
scarcely fair.” 

He winked solemnly, looked at Gerard with an air of 
half- drunken gravity while he paid for the coffee, then took 
him by the arm, and proceeded very deliberately — 

“ I study you, sir — I study you. Do you object to be 
. studied ? If you do, say so, and I desist. If you don’t, 
breakfast with me, and I’ll go on. I studied you from the 
first, before you reached Apsley House. It’s my profession, 
and I gloiy in it ! Do you think now, in the interest of 
art and as a personal favour, you could repeat the same 
expression you wore then, after breakfast ? I could catch 
it in five minutes. Come, sir. I’ll be frank with you. I 
want it for the part of Kinaldo in The Rival’s Revenge. 
I’ve been looking for it for twenty years, and hang me if 
I’ve ever seen the real trick of the thing till this morning. 
Up here, if you please ; they know me here. This way ! ” 

Gerard was not averse to breakfast, nor unwilling to take 
advantage of any society that might distract him from his 
own thoughts. He accompanied his new friend accordingly 
into a small tavern in one of the streets off Piccadilly, where 
a snug little breakfast was laid for them almost before they 


250 


THE WHITE BOSE 


had time to sit down. While his entertainer extricated 
himself with some difficulty from the voluminous recesses 
of his cloak, Gerard removed his hat, and took a chair 
opposite the window. The other peered curiously in his 
guest’s face. 

“ Excuse me,” said he ; ‘‘I suspected it from the first. 
I am a man of honour. We are alone : you need be under 
no apprehension. How do you do, Mr. Ainslie ? ” 

Gerard started. ‘‘ You know me then ? ” he exclaimed. 

And who the devil are 1 mean, where have I had the 

pleasure of meeting you before ? ” 

“You are altered,” answered his companion, “and you 
had no more beard than the palm of my hand when I saw 
you last ; but I never forget a face. I have studied your 
appearance and manners many a time for light parts in 
genteel comedy. I do assure you, sir, without compliment 
now, that my unparalleled success in Frank Featherbrain 
was chiefly owing to your unconscious exposition of the 
part. For the real empty-headed fop the critics said they 
never saw its equal.” 

“ But I don’t remember you,” said Gerard, not so much 
flattered as the other seemed to expect. “ Your face is 
perfectly strange to me. And yet,” he added, with perfect 
truth, “ I don’t think I should ever have forgotten it.” 

His companion looked much pleased. “ Striking, sir,” 
he answered, “ striking, I believe ; and expressive, it is no 
vanity to admit. But j^ou remember a certain hurdle-race 
many years ago, in which you sustained a severe and heavy 
fall. I picked you up, sir, and saw you home. I was 
lodging at the same house. My name was Bruff then, sir ; 
I have changed it since. Mr. Barrington-Belgrave, at 
your service.” Producing a limp little card, he handed it 
to Gerard with a good deal of pretension. 

The latter could but express his delight at such an intro- 
duction ; and Mr. Barrington-Belgrave, as we must now 
call him, continued the conversation, working vigorously at 
his breakfast the while. 

“A sad accident, sir, a sad accident. We put you into 
a fly, and we bore you up-stairs, I and — and — another 
party — an extremely talented party that, and with great 
personal attractions. Would it be indiscreet to ask? Ah! 


MB. BABBINGTON-BELGBAVE 


251 


pardon me, not another word. I see I have touched a 
chord. Poor thing ! poor thing ! I remember now ; so 
young, so beauteous, and so early — ah ! ” 

Mr. Belgrave hid his face, as under the influence of 
painful sympathy, in a red cotton handkerchief. He did 
not observe, therefore, the puzzled expression of Gerard’s 
countenance. The latter, indeed, often wondered what had 
become of Fanny, though thinking of her, no doubt, less 
continuously than was due to the remembrance of a wife, 
who might be alive or dead. He inclined, perhaps, to the 
opinion that she was no more ; hut this part of his past life 
had become so distasteful to him, that he dismissed it as 
much as possible from his thoughts, and indeed, had no 
means of making inquiries as to her welfare, or even her 
existence, had he been ever so anxious to take her back 
again, which he was not. 

After such a pause as on the stage allows eight bars of 
music to be played without interruption, Mr. Barrington- 
Belgrave, becoming gi’adually sober, but feeling none the 
less interested in the broken-down gentleman who was 
breakfasting with him, put a leading question. 

“ And may I ask, sir, as an old friend — ^perhaps I should 
say a new friend and an old acquaintance — ^what you are 
doing in London, and how you like it ? ” 

“Doing! ” answered Gerard, glancing down at his own 
worn attire ; “ why, doing devilish badly, as you see ; and 
for liking it, I don’t like it at all. I’m what they call a 
hack, I believe, on a penny paper. Since you saw me, 
Mr. Belgrave, I’ve carried a pen, and I’ve carried a pickaxe. 
I’ll tell you what, the last is the easier to handle, and 
earns the best wages of the two.” 

Mr. Belgrave ruminated, rang the bell, and ordered two 
small glasses of brandy. 

“ A man of education,” he observed dogmatically, “ a 
man of observation, a man who has lived in society, and 
seen the world — why don’t you write for the stage? ” 

Gerard stared, and swallowed his glass of brandy at a 
gulp. 

“ Do they pay you well? ” said he, after a pause. “It’s 
not a bad idea ; I can but try.” 

“If you think of it,” answere^ the other, wisely for- 


252 


THE WHITE BOSE 


bearing to commit himself on the remunerative question, 
“ I could put you in the way of having a piece read, which 
is a great matter, and sometimes, though not invariably, a 
necessary preliminary to its being accepted. I am engaged 
myself at present at the Accordion, and have some interest 
with the manager. Between you and me, though of course 
it goes no farther, I am taking one or two inferior parts as 
a personal favour to that gentleman. We expect an actress 
next month from America, who has never yet played on 
English hoards : we require a new piece for her — something 
original, startling, galvanic. I told Mr. Bowles, only last 
night, our best chance would be a piece from an untried 
hand. Will you undertake it ? As I said before, if you 
will write, I can engage that he shall read.” 

“But I don’t understand stage-business,” objected 
Gerard, more than half disposed to comply. “I know 
nothing about your prompter’s box, your cues, your exits 
and entrances, your ins and outs, and the rest of it. I’m 
afraid I should make a rare mess, even if I could manage 
the plot.” 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! not a hit of it ! ” answered the actor. 
“ I’ll put you right on all those matters of mere detail. I 
have an especial gift for what I call ‘ drilling a company.’ 
You set to work, write the piece, have it ready in a fort- 
night, and I’ll answer for all the rest.” 

“Can’t you give me a hint or two?” said Gerard, a 
little alarmed at the magnitude of the undertaking into 
which he was about to plunge. 

“ Hints ! ” replied the actor ; “ hundreds of them ! But 
they’re no use. Look ye here, sir. The whole secret of 
success lies in three words. Shall I repeat them ? First, 
situation ! Second, situation ! Third, situation ! Startle 
your audience — that’s the way to treat ’em, sir — and keep 
’em startled all through. Plot ! what’s the use of a plot ? 
Nobody understands it, nor would care to attend to it if 
they did. Improbabilities ! you can’t have too many of 
’em ! What the devil do people go to the play for, but 
to see something different from real life? Drown your 
characters in a wash-hand basin, cut their throats with the 
door-scraper, or blow them to atoms with an Armstrong 
gun out of a four-post^hed ! Don’t be afraid of it. Giv^ 


MB, BABBWGTON-BELGBAVE 

us something to wonder at; but keep all your action as 
much as possible in one place, and mind nobody’s on the 
stage for more than two minutes at a time. The less they 
have to say the better. We’ll take care there’s soft music 
playing all through. It’s easier for the author, and 
pleasanter to the audience. I don’t think I can tell you 
anything more. Waiter, the bill, and another small glass 
of brandy. I must wish you good morning now. I’ve to 
he at rehearsal in an hour. Keep in mind what I’ve 
said, and yom* play will run three hundred nights, though 
it hasn’t a leg to stand on. Adieu ! ” 

So Mr. Barrington-Belgrave swaggered off, and Gerard 
betook himself to his melancholy lodging, somewhat 
inspirited by the new opening he espied, and wondering 
how it was that Mrs. Vandeleur, though she had grown 
more beautiful than ever, should have looked so exactly 
like the picture of her he had been wearing in his heart for 
more years now than he liked to count. 




CHAPTER XXXm 


OEIGINAL COMPOSITION 

Though as yet but a few weeks old at the trade, Gerard 
Ainslie, I fear, had already contracted a vice which appears 
more or less the result of all continuous literary labour — 
namely, an ignoble tendency to become chary of material, 
to use many words for the expression of few ideas, and to 
beat out the gilding itself very thin, so as to cover the 
greatest possible amount of surface. Tale-writing, even for 
such a paper as the Holborn Gazette^ was a pursuit less 
likely to encourage than exhaust fertility of invention, and 
our new-fledged author sat down to his deal writing-table 
with an overwhelming sense of the difficulties he had before 
him. Gerard was far too wise, however, to think of aban- 
doning his late career in favour of the new opening offered 
by Mr. Barrington-Belgrave. Under any circumstances, 
he would stick to the Holborn Gazette so long as it produced 
a regular salary. Bread and cheese were hard enough to 
get. He resolved not to leave go of the one while he made 
a grasp at the other; so he began to ponder how that 
same beating-out process, so essential to the making up 
of his weekly task, might be brought to bear on the con- 
struction of a melodrama — gorgeous, of course, in decora- 
tion ; characteristic, if possible, in dialogue and costume ; 
but above all, as he remembered with a sigh, startling in 
its situations ! 

He recalled the expression of Mr. Barrington-Belgrave’ s 
large, close-shaven, beetle-browed face, while insisting on 
this particular essential. He remembered the solemnity, 
not entirely owing to hrandy-and-water, of this enthusiast 

254 


OBIGINAL COMPOSITION 


255 


while he warned his pupil that extravagance, however 
glaring, was preferable to common-place; he recollected 
the examples adduced as stimulants to the attention of a 
British audience, and his heart sank within him while he 
pondered. But, as I said before, he had always learned 
some of the tricks of the trade; and it occurred to him, 
after brief consideration, that he might make a tale of 
mystery and horror, on which he was then engaged for the 
Holhorn Gazette, answer the double purpose of a thrilling 
romance and a new drama. 

One fellow’s hero, as Lord Dundreary would say, is very 
like another fellow’s hero ; and, after all, ring the changes 
on them how you will, there is hut little variety, except in 
dress, amongst the puppets that make up the interest of 
imaginative literature, whether for the library or the stage. 
You will find in “Ivanhoe,” for instance — and I name 
that romance because everybody has read it, and with 
equal interest — ^you will find, I say, in Ivanhoe,” the 
regular stock characters necessary for the construction of 
every narrative and every plot. If you look for anything 
beyond these, you will have considerable difficulty in hitting 
on it. 

First, there is Wilfred himself, the hero, pure and 
simple, type of strength, courage, address, rectitude, modesty, 
and good looks. Would he not have been Sir Gawain at 
the round table. Sir Charles Grandison in the last century, 
and more fire-eating dandies than I can name in all the 
novels of the present ? Dickens has got him a situation 
as an usher at a Yorkshire school ; Thackeray taught him to 
paint, sent him to Charter-House, and married him to 
Bowena instead of Behecca, though he took him out of 
that scrape too before the end of the third volume ; while 
Lever, remembering certain proclivities for spur and spear, 
purchased his commission, and shipped him off to serve 
under the Great Duke in the uniform of an Irish dragoon. 
We might pursue the parallel through every one of the 
characters who attended the tournament at Ashby-de-la- 
Zouch. There is the Black Knight, strong, good-tempered, 
and not burdened with wisdom ; Front-de-Boeuf, strong, 
bad-tempered, and totally devoid of scruple. Have we not 
seen the one with bare neck and glazed hat, the other in 


256 


THE WHITE E08E 


high boots and broad black belt, whenever the nautical 
di'ama sets Jack Hearty, the blue-jacket, in opposition to 
Paul Perilous, the pirate ? Bois Guilbert — and so far the 
Templar’s title remains equally appropriate — has of late 
become a lawyer, but the sort of lawyer who keeps prussic 
acid in his inkstand, and a “ six-shooter ” in his blue bag. 
Is not Bracy the Lovelace of Clarissa Harlowe,” and the 
Sir Charles Coldstream of ‘‘Lady Clutterbuck ” ? Parson 
Adams was no heavier a bruiser, and scarcely more respec- 
table a priest, than the Clerk of Copmanhurst. Gurth and 
Wamba have worn the powder and plush of every livery in 
vogue since the first French revolution. Cedric of Bother- 
wood has come down to farm his own estate of less than a 
hundred acres ; and Atheist ane the Unready has been so 
often before the footlights at the shortest notice, and in 
such various guise, that he deserves rather to be called 
Vertumnus the Versatile. 

With regard to the ladies, for many centuries we have 
been limited to two classes of heroines — the dark-eyed and 
affectionate, the blue-eyed and coy. Bowena and Bebecca 
must be quite tired of dressing over and over again for 
their parts ; and if for nothing else, we owe Miss Braddon 
a mine of gratitude that she has introduced us at last to a 
more original style — to a young person with a good deal 
of red in her hair, and a refreshing contempt for many 
of our long-cherished superstitions, including those incul- 
cated by the Church Catechism, though it must be ad- 
mitted that, however fascinating she may make her wicked 
witches, the right moral is always skilfully worked out in 
the end. 

If Gerard Ainslie had ever read Miss Braddon’s novels, 
he would of course have seized on any one he found un- 
touched, and turned it into an original play of his own 
composition ; but there is little time for study at the 
diggings, and he found himself cast on the meagre re- 
sources of his intellect instead. So he sat down, and pro- 
ceeded to convert his half-written story into a melodrama 
in three acts, with three situations in each act, the 
whole to be played over in less than two hours and a 
quarter. Obviously, the dialogue need distress him but 
little. Inteijections would do most of that. No, those 


OEIGINAL COMPOSITION 


257 


indispensable situations were what filled him with mis- 
giving and dismay. 

His own story was of the present time ; he intended to 
lay the scene of his drama early in the seventeenth century. 
This became a matter of trifiing impoi’tance when he 
refiected that he need but change the dresses of his 
characters, and make them speak the few words they had 
to say in rather more high-flown language. It is always 
supposed that the later we go back into history, the less we 
find the tone of ordinary conversation differing from our 
advertisements of the present day. 

There was but little modification needed in this respect, 
for the readers of the Holhorn Gazette would have been ill- 
satisfied without flowery phrases, and long magniloquent 
periods, just as they thought but little of any domestic 
story in which the principal personages were not of exalted 
rank in the peerage. The tale which G-erard was now 
preparing afforded them a duke, who kept in close con- 
finement (and this just outside of Belgrave Square), a 
marchioness in her own right, of whom there are indeed 
not a great many going about at a time, never suffering 
her to leave the house, which was perhaps the reason why 
the artist who illustrated her on wood for the vignettes 
depicted her under all emergencies in a court-dress with 
feathers and a fan, — the duke himself wearing loose 
trousers, and a frock coat, in the breast of which he 
studiously concealed his right hand. There was to be 
nobody in the book of inferior station to a baronet, except 
the duke’s dishonest steward, and he was to die about the 
middle of the second volume, tortured by remorse, though 
worth half a million of money. 

It would be superfluous to go into the plot of Gerard’s 
novel, but it seemed improbable enough to furnish him 
with the necessary “ situations” for his play, so down he 
sat to those labours of curtailment, alteration, and dis- 
guise, with which such original efforts of the intellect are 
produced. 

It was to be called by the high-sounding title of Pope 
Clement; or^ the Cardinal* s Collapse ^ and the “ situations ” 
he trusted would prove startling enough to satisfy the 
requirements of Mr. Barrington-Belgrave himself. Of 

17 


258 


THE WHITE BOSE 


these perhaps the least remarkable were the Pope’s dis- 
covery of the cardinal on his knees to a young lady, 
disguised as a peasant, who had come to confess ; the head 
of the Catholic Church presiding over a council table, under 
which was concealed on all-fours an Italian brigand, who 
proved afterwards, as the plot developed itself, to be the 
cardinal’s own son ; lastly, the attempted assassination of 
this cardinal in the gloomy recesses of the Vatican, by that 
unnatural child, whose hand is seized, when on the verge 
of parricide, by the young lady formerly disguised as a 
peasant, with whom father and son are both in love, but 
who, preferring the younger admirer, of course, seeks and 
finds him here very successfully by torchlight. 

It is not to he supposed that such dramatic extravagancies 
were the offspring of Gerard’s unassisted brain. On the 
contrary, he received almost daily visits from Mr. Barring- 
ton-Belgrave, who displayed a touching interest in the 
work, pruning dialogues, offering suggestions, and con- 
suming a good many brandies-and-sodas ” the while. 
The torchlight scene, indeed, was horn chiefly of effects 
produced by that imaginative stimulant. In less than a 
fortnight the drama was pronounced ready for perusal, and 
Mr. Barrington-Belgrave having previously treated the 
author to another heavy breakfast, led him off in triumph 
to the stage-manager’s residence, for inspection and possible 
approval, or, as he happily expressed it, “ on sale or 
return.” 

The Accordion Theatre stood in the immediate neighbour- 
hood of Seven-dials. It is needless to observe that Mr. 
Bowles, on whom devolved all the responsibility and nine- 
tenths of the trouble connected with that place of amusement, 
lived as far off as possible from the scene of his labours. 
After a long walk, terminating in the remote regions of 
Clapham Kise, Gerard Ainslie found himself waiting in the 
front parlour of a neat little two-storied house, trying 
not to hear what was said by Messrs. Bowles and Belgrave 
in the next room about his own composition. It was 
difficult, however, to avoid distinguishing the low tones of 
the actor’s voice, obviously urging ‘‘ extenuating circum- 
stances,” in reply to the manager’s higher notes, rising 
with a noble scorn into such expressions as these ; Im- 


OBIGINAL COMPOSITION 


259 


practicable ! Impossible ! Hangs fire ! Drags like a 
dredging-net! Don’t tell me; I can see that without 
reading it 1 Look what a business we made of the last. 
Devilish nearly lost us Kate Carmine; — cost me the 
doubling of her salary. What the devil did you bring him 
to me for ? However, ‘ the Boss ’ will be here at the 
half-hour. I’ll lay the blame on him. See him ? Well, 
I don’t mind. Devilish gentlemanlike fellow, of course. 
These poor, broken-down chaps always are. Ask him to 
step in.” 

So Gerard stepped in, and found himself face to face 
with a thin, quiet, well-bred man, who expressed in a tone 
as different as possible from that which he had heard 
through the folding-doors, first regret, at having kept him 
waiting, next, pleasure in making his acquaintance, and 
lastly, grave doubts whether the play under discussion, 
though denoting genius, would be adapted, without con- 
siderable alteration, to the company and resources of the 
Accordion. 

Mr. Barrington-Belgi*ave’s face brightened. He knew 
the manager, and this sounded a little more hopeful. Not 
only did he take an interest in the production of Pope 
Clement on Gerard’s account, but he was also persuaded that 
the character of the brigand was specially adapted to his 
own talents ; and he had, indeed, offered several suggestions 
during the composition of the piece, with a view of electri- 
fying a London audience by his rendering of that part. 
Gerard, watching his friend’s countenance, took courage, 
and offered humbly enough to alter his work in any way 
that might be pointed out. 

“ You must give us two more women’s parts,” suggested 
Mr. Bowles ; “or, let me see — pages. Yes, pages will do 
better. Can you put in a couple of pages, with something 
to say? You know,” he added, looking at the actor for 
corroboration, “I can’t keep Lydia Goddard and little 
Jessie White idle ; and they draw well, in boys’ dresses, 
both of them.” 

“ Nothing easier ! ” answered Gerard, wondering in his 
heart how he should get them in. 

“ Then there’s Violante. Ain’t that her name ? Yes, 
Violante. You’ll have to kill her. She’s no use if you 


260 


THE WHITE BOSE 


don’t kill her. Miss Carmine is the only die-er out this 
season. I don’t think — I do not think, we could persuade 
Miss Carmine to take a part without a die in it. Then 
about Mrs. Golightly. There is nothing for Mrs. 
Golightly. No ! She would never condescend to play 
the Pope. I fear it’s impossible. I’m really afraid 
we must give it up, or at any rate put it off to another 
season. Excuse me; there’s the door-hell.” 

Mr. Barrington-Belgrave, watching Gerard’s face, which 
had grown of late sadly worn and pale, was surprised to 
see it flush at the sound of a voice in the passage. 

Next moment the door opened, and “ the Boss,” as Mr. 
Bowles called him, entered the room. 

That gentleman saluted Mr. Belgrave with his usual 
courtesy ; then stood transflxed, and gaping, in speechless 
surprise. 

Our dramatic author broke the silence flrst. 

“ Why, Dolly ! ” said he, “I had no idea that I should 
ever see you again.” 

To which the other only answered, “ Gerard ! ” but in a 
tone of astonishment that spoke volumes. 

It is needless to observe, Gerard’s play was accepted 
forthwith. Mr. Egremont, who liked to be busy, had 
taken upon himself the superior management of the 
Accordion Theatre ; finding the money, of course, but 
otherwise impeding its efficiency in every possible way ; 
and Dolly was not a man to lose such a chance of helping 
an old friend at a pinch. It was wonderful how quickly 
Mr. Bowles’s difficulties melted into air. The part of 
Violante should be kept for Miss Carmine, failing the 
American star, whose advent still seemed uncertain. The 
two young ladies who affected young gentlemen’s dresses 
must take whatever parts they were offered, and be thankful. 
Lastly, if Mrs. Golightly did not choose to play Pope 
Clement she might let it alone, and see the performance 
from the front. 

To Mr. Barrington-Belgi’ave’s exceeding admiration, the 
real manager and the inexperienced playwright walked out 
arm-in-arm, the former observing, as he jumped into the 
Hansom-cab waiting at the door, “Good-bye, old man; 
I’ve got yom* address written down here. I wish you could 


OBIGINAL COMPOSITION 


261 


come with me and see the Cup run for. I never was so 
pleased in my life. We’ll meet to-morrow. Take care of 
yourself.” Then, through the little trap-door overhead. 
“ Nine Elms! As hard as you can go. You’ve just twenty 
minutes to do it in. Shove on ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


THE CUP DAY 

Who that is doomed to spend the sweet summer-time in 
London would miss a Cup day at Ascot, provided he 
had leisure to make holiday and means for enjoying it ? 
Certainly not Dolly Egremont, whose whole nature stirred 
and softened to country influences and country scenes, no- 
where so powerful, nowhere so delightful, as in the neigh- 
bourhood of Windsor Forest. Long before the first week 
in June, Dolly used to find himself pining for cowslip 
fragrance, and butter-cup glitter, in waving meadow-grass ; 
for hawthorn, pink and white, on thick green hedges ; for 
golden laburnum trailing across clean cottage windows, and 
lilacs drooping over bright red-hrick walls. Ah ! the 
cockneys are the people to enjoy the country. And Dolly 
Egremont loved to boast he was cockney enough to delight 
even in the ponds about Wandsworth, and the fresh, wild, 
prairie-like expanse of Barnes Common. As for racing, — 
well, racing is good fun enough in its way, providing your 
ventures on that uncertain sport are limited to a sovereign 
with your friend, or a box of Houbigant’s gloves for “ the 
small white hand ” that, alas ! may be “ never your own! ” 
And Dolly liked to look at a good horse as well as most 
other Englishmen, while, knowing but little of the animal’s 
points, he admired it, perhaps, all the more, and certainly 
formed a clearer notion of its probable success. Whereas 
old Cotherstone, who had been breeding thoroughbred stock 
ever since he came of age, and boasted himself what they 
call at Newmarket one of “ your make-and-shape men,” 

backed his own opinion freely, losing thereby with consider- 
262 


THE CUP DAY 


26 a 

able spirit. Indeed, for the two-year-old scrambles at 
Northampton and elsewhere, he was so consistently in the 
wrong as to have become a proverb. It was Dolly’s good 
fortune to meet this veteran sportsman in the train. He 
might have reaped a good deal of information as to weights, 
distances, and that mysterious property racing men call 
“form,” had his thoughts not been elsewhere. Old Cother- 
stone voted him a capital listener, and prosed on with a 
perseverance that, to use his habitual jargon, would 
have convinced the meanest capacity of his powers “to 
stay a distance ; ” but Dolly, looking out at window on his 
own side of the carriage, was pondering on other silks than 
those which flutter down the straight to be marshalled by 
a patient starter waving a red flag, of other matches than 
those which carry weight for age, and of a race run on 
different conditions from Derby, Oaks, or Ascot Cup — a 
race not always to the swift, but for which hare and 
tortoise start on equal terms, in which the loser is some- 
times less to be pitied than the winner, and of which the 
“ settling,” however long put off, is sure to be heavy, if 
not unsatisfactory, at last. 

Dolly, you see, notwithstanding his jovial, prosperous 
appearance, considered himself at this time the bounden 
slave of a damsel who has already appeared in these pages 
under the name of Miss Tregunter. He had even arrived 
at calling her “ Jane,” but this only in his dreams. That 
eligible young person had expressed an intention of appear- 
ing at Ascot with the rest of the world on the Cup day, 
and Dolly, judging by analogy, expected great results 
from the romantic influences of scenery, sunshine, senti- 
ment, judicious flattery, lobster- salad, and champagne- 
cup. 

Miss Tregunter was an heiress. To do him justice, 
Dolly often wished she was not. The field would have 
been clearer of rivals, and as his attachment was really dis- 
interested, he would have liked to convince her his admira- 
tion was solely for herself. To-day he meant to say 
something very marked indeed ; he had not the remotest 
idea what. No wonder, therefore, he listened so gravely 
to Cotherstone’s resume of the racing season up to the 
present meeting, concluding with a declaration that one 


264 


THE WHITE BOSE 


could always prophesy these later triumphs from the per- 
formances of horses in the spring. 

“ Ah ! ” said Dolly, waking out of a brown study, and 
clothing his thoughts as usual in a garbled quotation from 
one of his favourite poets, — 

“ In the spring a young man’s fancy 
Lightly turns to thoughts of love ; 

Dam by Stockwell out of Nancy — 

How they squeeze and how they shove ! ” 

Old Cotherstone stared at this dovetailing of his own 
conversation, his companion’s thoughts, and the pressure 
they were forced to undergo on emerging from the train 
at the narrow entrance to the course. Here, however, they 
separated, the elder man to penetrate the betting-ring and 
find out what they were laying about Hyacinth for the Cup, 
the younger to purchase “ cards of the running horses, 
names, weights, and colours of the riders,” for immediate 
presentation to his lady-love. 

We are more interested at present in the less business- 
like performance of the two, and will follow Mr. Egremont 
to the grand stand, where ladies now sit in their private 
boxes much as they sat some eighteen hundred years ago 
to smile on the dying gladiator in the amphitheatre — some 
dozen centuries later to wince and shrink, looking down 
pale and pretty, on splintered lance and rolling charger in 
the tilt-yard — last week, and week before, and every week 
in the season, to whisper, and flirt, and fan themselves, 
complaining softly of the heat, at the Italian Opera. 

Dolly’s heart beat faster when he reached Mrs. Van- 
deleur’s box, for under that lady’s wing, as having long 
attained matronly rank, he knew he should find Miss Tre- 
gunter ; and the boots that had seemed to fit him so well 
when he left home, the coat in which even Curlewis could 
find no fault when he tried it on yesterday, failed all at once 
to give him the confidence they had hitherto inspired. Of 
course he blundered in headlong. Of course he offered but 
a distant greeting to the person he cared for most, hut 
accosted her friend and chaperon with extraordinary cordiality 
and affection. I suppose women understand these things, 
but it has always puzzled me how a real attachment can be 


THE CUP DAY 


265 


brought to a happy conclusion, because a man never appears 
to such disadvantage as in the presence of the woman he 
loves. 

Dolly, however, was safe enough with Mrs. Vandeleur. 
They were fast friends. Such friends as man and woman 
only become when there can be no question of love-making 
between them. Where the heart is touched, there is 
always a certain element of strife. He was the only 
gentleman in the box. She tried her best to put him at 
his ease, and made a place for him by Miss Tregunter, who 
looked quite captivating in a pale pink dress, like a half- 
blown hawthorn. 

I see you stick to your colours,” said Dolly nervously, 
and showing his own more than was becoming, in his round 
cheeks. “ I remember you wore pink the first time I ever 
met you.” 

“ And you thought it pretty,” answered Miss Tregunter, 
with a bright smile, hurrying thereafter, as ladies will, to a 
safer subject. Can’t you mark the winners for me, Mr. 
Egremont ? Can’t you tell me what I ought to back for 
the Cup ? ” 

“It’s not much in my line,” answered Dolly, wishing 
for the moment he had sunk his whole patrimony in a 
string of race-horses; “ but there’s a man who can put you 
on a good thing,” pointing to Cotherstone, who had shut 
his book, and was labouring through the mass of ladies on 
the lawn. “ May I beckon him up here ? ” he asked Mrs. 
Vandeleur. 

“ Lord Cotherstone ? ” replied Norah. “ Of course you 
may. He’s a great friend of mine, though we never meet 
but twice a year. Does he see you ? How lame he walks. 
We’ll give him some luncheon. Here he is.” 

While she spoke the racing veteran tapped at the box- 
door, to be received with the empressement due to such an 
oracle, from whose lips every word that fell was worth at 
least a dozen pair of gloves. 

“ Hyacinth ! ” he exclaimed, in accents hoarse with the 
shouting of many meetings, to answer a timid suggestion 
from Miss Tregunter. “Don’t you believe it. Don’t you 
back him, Mrs. Vandeleur. Let him alone, both of you. 
Yes, he’s a good-looking one enough, and he’s a smart 


266 


THE WHITE HOSE 


horse for a mile ; but he’s no use here. He’ll never get 
up the hill in a week. No back ribs, and not very game 
when he’s collared. I don’t often give an opinion, but 
I bred him, you know, and I’ve got his form to a 
pound.” 

Miss Tregunter looked disappointed. Was it that she 
had taken a fancy to Hyacinth’s beautiful shape, or because 
Dandy Burton, who always made up to her, with or without 
encouragement, now stepped into their box? or could she 
have disapproved of Dolly’s conduct in taking advantage of 
the stir thus created, to whisper something for Mrs. 
Vandeleur’s exclusive information ? Something that made 
Norah turn deadly pale, and crumple to shreds the race- 
card in her hand. 

It was a short sentence, and had Miss Tregunter heard 
it distinctly, would have interested her, I believe, but 
little. 

Turning his back on the others, Dolly whispered, in low, 
hurried syllables, ‘‘I have seen Gerard Ainslie. He is in 
London — very poor. You shall have his address this even- 
ing.” Then, true to his kindly instincts, honest Dolly, 
sorely against his inclination, quitted the box, leaving 
Dandy Burton, literally a fair field and no favour ” with 
the heiress. That gentleman was called Dandy Burton 
still, and doubtless deserved the title honestly enough. 
He had left the Life Guards for some time, having found, 
indeed, that service far less to his taste than he imagined 
before he joined. Truth to tell, the Dandy was not quite a 
“good enough fellow” for the Household Brigade, with 
whom no amount of coxcombry will go down unless it 
conceals fi’ank manliness of character beneath its harmless 
affectations. When Burton first made acquaintance with 
his new comrades, these did all in their power to train him 
into what soldiers call “the right sort of cornet.” They 
quizzed his boots, they crahhed his riding, they corked his 
eyebrows, and they made hay in his room ! But it was all 
to no purpose ; and though they neither quarrelled with 
nor rendered him uncomfortable, everybody was satisfied 
he would not stop long. So after a year or two he sold 
out, to make way for a merry blue-eyed boy, fresh from 
Eton, who could do “ thimble-rig,” “ prick the garter,” 


THE CUP DAY 


267 


^‘bones’’ with his face blacked, and various other accom- 
plishments ; who feared nothing, respected nobody on 
earth, besides the colonel, but his own corporal-major, 
and suited the corps, as he himself expressed it, ** down to 
the gi’ound.” 

Burton’s present profession, however, as the dandy ‘‘pure 
and simple,” going about London, was far more to his 
taste than the military duties of Knightsbridge and 
Windsor. Not another of the “ trade ” was more beauti- 
fully dressed and turned out that day upon the course, and 
nobody could have been more satisfied of his correct appear- 
ance than himself. 

“ Unwisely weaves that takes two webbes in hand,” says 
Spenser; but Burton, disregarding such wholesome advice, 
no sooner found himself in Mrs. Vandeleur’s box, with old 
Cotherstone and the two ladies, than he proceeded to play 
the double game in which he believed himself a proficient. 
His admiration, and whatever little sentiment he could 
muster, were doubtless given to Mrs. Vandeleur. But he 
had a great idea of marrying the heiress. So, with an 
audacity that could only arise fi:om utter ignorance of 
feminine nature, he began to “ make running ” with two 
women at the same time, who were fast friends, and neither 
of whom cared the least bit for him in her heart. 

He tried Miss Tregunter first ; but the young lady’s eyes 
“were with her heart, and that was far away.” They were 
following Dolly’s broad form as it traversed the course, 
which was even now being cleared for the great race, and 
she vouchsafed not a single look to the Dandy. Then he 
engaged Mrs. Vandeleur, still exchanging last words with 
Lord Cotherstone, whose hand was on the door, and here 
he was less unfortunate. She turned more graciously 
towards him than usual. 

“Will you do me a favour, Mr. Burton?” asked this 
White Witch, in her most seductive accents. 

“What is there I would not do for you? ” naturally 
answered the Dandy, modulating his voice, however, so 
that Miss Tregunter should not hear. 

“ Thanks,” replied Norah, with a bright smile. “ Eun 
down, please, amongst those noisy ‘ ring ’ people, and bet 
two hundred pounds for me against Hyacinth. Lord 


268 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Cotherstone says it is ‘ two to one.’ That means I shall 
win a hundred pounds, don’t it ? ” 

Certainly,” answered Burton, ‘‘if it comes off. I’ll 
book it for you in five minutes.” 

“And — and — Mr. Burton,” added the lady, with the 
colour rising to her cheek, and the light to her eyes, 
“ Lord Cotherstone is a very good judge, isn’t he ? Will 
you do it twice over ? I’m sure Hyacinth can’t win.” 

So Burton walked solemnly down into the betting-ring, 
and laid four hundred to two against the favourite, while 
Mrs. Vandeleur, leaning hack in her chair, shut her eyes 
for forty blissful seconds, thinking how by this time 
to-morrow Gerard Ainslie would have received a couple of 
hundred through a safe hand, anonymously, “ from a 
friend.” 

Men are apt enough to be over- sanguine ; but the 
amount of chickens counted by women, even before the 
eggs are laid, defies calculation. 

People dropped in and went out, but Norah heeded them 
very little, for the horses had already taken their canters, 
and were marshalled for the start. A pang of misgiving 
shot through her when Hyacinth went sweeping down, 
blooming like a rainbow and elastic as an eel. 

“ Why, he’s as beautiful as the flower they call him by ! ” 
said Miss Tregunter. 

“Never mind,” answered Norah; “Lord Cotherstone 
must know, and it’s sure to be all right ! ” 

I will not take upon me to describe this or any other 
race for the Ascot Cup, inasmuch as the crowd has hitherto 
prevented my seeing any part of these contests but the last 
fifty yards. In the present instance the struggle at the hill 
was exceedingly severe ; horses were changing their legs, 
while whip and spur were going a quarter of a mile from 
home. Hyacinth, however, who had been lying back till 
the distance, came out directly his jockey called on him, 
and won with apparent ease amidst shouts that might have 
been heard at Hyde Park Corner. 

The ring were hit veiy hard, and Mrs. Yandeleur lost 
four hundred pounds ! Burton, making his way back to her 
box, stumbled against Lord Cotherstone. The latter, of 
course, defended his own judgment in defiance of the event. 


THE CUP DAY 


269 


“I told you the Porpoise wasn’t fit,” said he. ‘‘ If they 
could have galloped Porpoise yesterday, Lifeboat would 
have made the running for him, and Hyacinth must have 
come in a had third ! ” 

The next person Dandy met was his old fellow-pupil; 
but Dolly seemed too pre-occupied to answer the question 
put in a whisper by his friend, “What was it you said to 
her in the box that made Mrs. Vandeleur turn so pale? ” 


CHAPTER XXXV 


TIGHT SHOES 

Alas ! that the misery of those pinches, proverbially 
unsuspected save by the wearer, should be confined to no 
particular style of chaussurey but prove as insupportable 
under satin sandal as waterproof hoot. I doubt if Cinde- 
rella herself was thoroughly comfortable in her glass 
slippers, and have always been persuaded that she kicked 
one of them off while leaving the ball-room, partly in 
excusable coquetry, and partly because it was too tight ! 
With handsome Mrs. Vandeleur too, the White Rose of my 
story, the metaphorical shoe pinched very closely during the 
height of the London season in which Hyacinth earned his 
immortality as a racehorse by winning the Ascot Cup. It 
was a shoe, moreover, possessing the peculiar property of 
misfitting chiefly on Monday mornings, at monthly intervals, 
when she paid her household accounts, looked into her 
expenditure, and found that even her liberal fortune was 
insufficient to make both ends meet. This inconvenience 
might be accounted for in many ways. The prettiest house 
in London is not likely to be hired at a low rent ; good 
taste in furniture cannot he indulged without lavish 
expenditure; if people insist on giving charming little 
dinners of eight two or three times a week, cooks’ wages 
and wine-merchants’ accounts soon run into units, tens, 
hundreds, not to mention “ bills delivered ” by poulterers, 
pickle-makers, and purveyors of good things “ round the 
comer; ” high-stepping horses are seldom attainable under 
three figures, and Mr. Barker, as indeed his name would 
seem to imply, opens his mouth rather wide when he builds, 

270 


TIGHT SHOES 


271 


repairs, paints, varnishes, or otherwise refits the carriages 
he turns out so efi’ectually. Add to these luxuries of life 
such necessaries as bonnets, hall-dresses, bracelets, and 
other jewellery to wear or give away ; take boxes at the 
Opera, and join water-parties at Richmond whenever the 
whim seizes yourself or friends ; be careful to abstain from 
nothing that charms the fancy or pleases the eye ; never 
pay your bills till the end of the second year, and I will 
take upon me to predict you will soon find the shoe so tight, 
that the difficulty is how to get it off at all. 

What a pretty little shoe it was with which Mrs. Vande- 
leur kicked away the footstool under her writing-table, ere 
she rose to refresh herself with a look in the glass, after 
poring over her accounts ! What a beautiful face she saw 
there, pale indeed, and with its hair pushed far back after 
an hour’s bewildering study, hut lit up by a smile that it 
had not shown for years, that reminded even herself of the 
Norah Welby winding silks on the lawn at Marston, under 
the summer lime-trees, long ago ! 

“ It’s a bore too ! ” she murmured, and what I hate is 
being mixed up in money matters with a man. But I can 
always manage somehow, and then, poor fellow ! I like to 
think I have made him tolerably comfortable. How he 
must wonder ! and it’s too nice of dear fat Dolly to manage 
it all so cleverly. Gracious I that reminds me, the fancy- 
ball is to-morrow, and I’ve never written to Jane ! ” So 
she sprang back to her table, bundled the pile of accounts 
into a drawer, where it would take at least an hour’s work 
to arrange them for inspection on some future occasion, 
and spreading a sheet of note-paper, smooth, sweet-scented, 
and crested with a monogram like a centipede, scrawled off 
the following effusion : — “ I am in despair, darling, about 
missing you — I waited at home all the morning, and begin 
to fear now some bother has prevented your getting away. 
I have heaps of business to talk over, but long to see you 
besides on your own account, that you may tell me all 
about yourself — we shall meet to-morrow, so nobody must 
find out you came here so lately — ^the disguise is perfect ! 
and I am sure will answer om* purpose. Are we not dread- 
fully deceitful ? but when people pry, and gossip, and try to 
sound one’s servants, it seems all fair. Don’t answer, please ! 


272 


THE WHITE BOSE 


it might create suspicion. — Ever your loving Norah Vande- 
leur.” While she signed her name, Miss Tregunter and 
luncheon were announced simultaneously. Mrs. Vandeleur, 
pushing the note hastily aside, ran out to meet her friend 
on the stairs, and turn her back for that meal, which is, 
with ladies, the most important in the day. 

So down they sat in the pretty dining-room, to demolish 
roast chicken and light claret, while they talked volubly of 
their own doings and their friends, with as little reserve as 
if Kobert Smart, and his confederate, faultlessly powdered, 
were a couple of mutes; or the portly butler, who con- 
descended to pour them out their wine (wondering the 
while how they could drink such thin stuff), was ignorant 
of all social scandal, and averse to disseminating it, betraying 
thereby but a superficial acquaintance with the character of 
that domestic. Presently, Jane Tregunter, eating jelly 
with grapes stuck in it, and wearying perhaps of others’ 
love affairs, began gradually to work round in the direction 
of her own. “ You’ll go, dear,” said this young lady affec- 
tionately, “ you promised, and I know you are to be trusted. 

I shouldn’t like to he disappointed, I own. You see I 

I’ve never been at a fancy hall.” 

‘‘ I was writing to you about it when you arrived,” 
answered Norah: “now I may tear my letter up, for it 
don’t matter. Disappoint you, dear! Why should you 
think I would ? I’ve done everything about the dresses — 
I’m certain nobody will know us. You’ve no idea what a 
difference powder makes, and it’s so becoming ! I shall be 
very much surprised, Jane, if somebody don’t collapse 
altogether. I think to-morrow will he an eventful evening.” 

“Patches, and a pink satin petticoat,” mused Miss 
Tregunter, “ it does sound very pretty, Norah : hut nobody 
will look at me,” she added, honestly enough, “ if we’re 
both dressed alike.” 

“ That is your modesty 1 ” answered Mrs. Vandeleur 
heartily. “ I’m an old woman you know, now, and my 
staunchest admirers are getting tired of me. Even Mr. 
Egremont has deserted my standard this season. Don’t 
you think so, Jane ? ” 

Jane blushed, and looked pleased. Perhaps it was not 
exclusively love for her hostess that made her so happy in 


TIGHT SHOES 


278 


Mrs. Vandeleur’s house. The latter was an old and sincere 
friend of Dolly’s — no rival, though sometimes feared as 
such for an instant at a time, and a capital go-between. 
Miss Tregunter swallowed her jelly, wiped her mouth, and 
walked round the table to give the White Eose a kiss, an 
operation witnessed by Eobert, who entered at that moment 
to change her plate, without eliciting the slightest token of 
surprise. 

“ You’re very good to me, Norah,” said she aifectionately, 
“ and I think you guess something. I’m not sure whether 
your guess is right, but I don’t mind telling you I should 
not he angry if it was — what makes you think, dear, that 
somebody, — well — that Mr. Egi-emont will be at the fancy 
ball?” 

“Because I’m not blind, my dear,” answered Mrs. 
Vandeleur ; “ no more is he — I think he is quite right, and 
I think you will be quite wrong if you snub him. Depend 
upon it he’s worth a dozen of the other one ! ” 

Miss Tregunter looked puzzled. “What other one?” 
she asked ; “ do you mean Mr. Burton, Norah ? don’t you 
like Mr. Burton ? ” 

On the tip of Mrs. Vandeleur ’s tongue was a frank dis- 
claimer, hut she remembered, with a twinge of dissatisfac- 
tion, how this gentleman had of late been concerned in 
several money matters on her account — how he had made 
bets for her at Tattersall’s, gambled for her in railway 
shares, and speculated with her money or his own, she 
was not quite sure which, in one or two unremunerative 
ventm’es east of Temple Bar ; also, how they met con- 
tinually in public, while he called at her house nearly 
every day, so she could not consistently give vent to the 
truth, which was that she wished him at the bottom of the 
sea. 

“Like him, dear?” she repeated with a hesitation so 
foreign to her usual frank outspoken manner as to puzzle 
Miss Tregunter more and more ; “ Well, I like him, and I 
don’t like him. I think he’s very disagreeable sometimes, 
but then you know he’s such an old acquaintance — I’ve 
known him so long, and he’s exceedingly obliging — alto- 
gether ” 

“ Norah, dear,” interrupted her friend, with unusual 
18 


274 


THE WHITE ROSE 


energy, “ you won’t be affronted at what I’m going to say. 
I’ve often wanted to speak about it, but I never had 
courage. Take my advice, and keep clear of Mr. Burton. 

I don’t know the world so well as you do, but I know him. 
He makes up to me, dear, awfully ! and I hate him for it ! 
It’s only because I’ve some money. I’ll tell you how I 
found that out some day. So different from the other. 
Norah, dear, don’t be angry ! People are beginning to talk 
about you and him. Aunt Margaret told Theresa you were 
in love with him, and even dear old Lady Baker made her 
repeat the whole story, and said she knew there was some 
truth in it, for he was never out of the house. I was so 
angry I could have thumped them, Theresa and all ! I 
thought I’d tell you, and if you’re offended I shall cry for a 
week — there ! And if he knew it, I do believe he’d poison 
me in a strawberry-ice to-morrow evening ; there’s no crime 
that man would stick at, if he was sure of not being found 
out. Hush ! talk of the — Dandy ! Now I’ll run away, dear 
— you’re not angry, I see — good-bye, darling, and take care 
of yourself.” 

So Miss Tregunter made her escape from the ground- 
floor, while Mrs. Vandeleur went up-stairs, to confront the 
gentleman of whom her friend held so unflattering an 
opinion, in the drawing-room, to which apartment he had 
been shown by Mr. Smart, ere that well-drilled servant 
announced his arrival to the ladies below. For the first 
time in her life Norah met her visitor with some little 
feeling of vexation and constraint. Hitherto she had con- 
sidered him a moderately pleasant but decidedly useful 
acquaintance, had ignored his selfishness, smiled at his 
vanity, and tolerated him contentedly enough ; but to-day, 
something in her woman’s nature rose in fierce rebellion 
against the assumption of intimacy, the affectation of more 
than friendly interest she was conscious he displayed. 
Every woman, I believe, likes to be made love to, until her 
heart is engaged elsewhere, and then, with a fine sense of 
justice, she turns round and resents as an insult the admira- 
tion hitherto graciously accepted as a tribute to her sove- 
reignty. It is but fair, however, to say that Norah had 
never yet detected in Mr. Burton’s manner anything warmer 
than the cordiality of long-established friendship. It was 


TIGHT SHOES 


275 


Jane Tregunter’s appeal that to-day for the first time, put 
the possibility of his presumption into her head, and she 
felt she disliked him extremely, although he had saved her 
so much trouble in business matters, nay, even although he 
had been educated by the same private tutor as Gerard 
Ainslie ! 

“ He came quickly across the room when she entered, 
masking as it seemed, some confusion under a gayer 
manner than usual. “ How well you look! ” he exclaimed, 
taking her hand with a good deal of empressement. You 
grow more beautiful every day. I came to talk business, 
and you put it all out of my head.” 

She liked him none the better for the vapid compliment. 
It had not the ring of the true metal, and perhaps she 
would have valued it no more had it been sterling gold. 
Sitting down a long way off, she answered icily enough — 

“ If you come on business, let us get it over at once, for 
my carriage is ordered in ten minutes. If you want to talli 
nonsense,” she added, thinking she was rather severe, ‘‘you 
are too late — Miss Tregunter is just gone, and it’s thrown 
away upon me.” 

“Miss Tregunter!” replied the Dandy, in a tone of 
assumed disgust ; “ who would ever think of Miss Tregunter 
in comparison with you? ” but observing a peculiar expression 
of scorn about Norah’s eyebrows, he added judiciously, 
“ My business will soon be over, and you can go for your 
drive. Here are the bills ; you can look through them at 
your leisure. I am afraid, as a matter of form, I must ask 
you for a receipt.” 

She crossed to the writing-table. “ How very odd ! ” 
said she, rummaging over it’s littered surface, “ I'm certain 
I left it here. What can have become of it ? Never mind. 
It isn’t wanted after all, for Jane has been — there’s the 
receipt, Mr. Burton. Is it dated right ? I haven’t half 
thanked you for your trouble ; and now tell me when do you 
think this money will have to be paid ? ” 

He had turned away nervously while she was at the 
writing-table, but he forced himself to look her straight in 
the face. “When?” he repeated. “Why, after Good- 
wood — we shall win a hatful of money on the Stakes, and 
I’ve let the Cup alone, because I don’t see my way. 


276 


THE WHITE BOSE 


You’ve no idea what an interest I feel in the thing, now 
that I have a real inducement to success.” 

She felt she was in a false position, and she hated it. 
She knew she was deeply involved, and that it would take 
more than a year’s income to free herself from her obliga- 
tions to Dandy Burton. It was provoking, irritating beyond 
measure, but not humiliating, because she had sacrificed 
her independence for his comfort, whom she must never see 
again, but whom she still so dearly loved. “ And if I lose 
at Goodwood,” said she, pondering, “ these people won’t 
wait ? ” 

“They must! they shall!” answered the Dandy, 
vehemently ; “ don’t be anxious — don’t distress yourself, 
dear Mrs. Vandeleur, trust to me ; there is nothing in the 
world I wouldn’t do for you ! ” 

She thanked him coldly enough. It was getting worse 
and worse, she thought. Her servant came in to say the 
carriage was at the door, and in common decency her visitor 
could stay no longer, hut he bowed over her hand, when she 
wished him good-bye, till his lips almost touched it, and 
Norah’s sensitive perceptions detected in his manner a bold 
confidence, an assured air of success, that angered her to 
the core. Running up-stairs to put on her bonnet, she 
struck her clenched hand hard against the banisters, a 
display of temper very unusual, and denoting that she was 
deeply moved. She gave a little sigh of relief, though, 
when the street-door closed, and proceeded calmly enough 
to make her afternoon toilette. 

Burton emerging on the pavement, took a paper from his 
pocket, and after reading it with rather a strange smile, 
bestowed it carefully in his note-case. This paper had no 
address, but was written in Norah Vandeleur’ s bold and 
somewhat straggling hand. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


NON CUIVIS 

It was getting late in the afternoon, and high time for the 
Park, if he meant to go there at all ; so Mr. Burton 
straightened his waist, looked admiringly at his boots, and 
proceeded into the Park by way of Albert Gate, with that 
air of supreme indifference, and imperturbable equanimity 
affected by his order towards sundown. No wonder a frank 
jovial manner is so highly appreciated in London ; no 
wonder the free, kindly, energetic character called a 
“ cheery fellow ” should be so popular. Refreshing as it is 
rare, his pleasant greeting puts you in good humour with 
yourself, with him, with things in general, with the score of 
friends in particular, whom you had almost voted a minute 
ago the twenty greatest bores in the world ! 

But the Dandy’s “ form,” as Lord Cotherstone would 
have said, was hardly good enough to admit of his being 
perfectly natural ; it was his custom therefore to intrench 
him self in an impenetrable and rather contemptuous 
reserve, which imposed on the public and answered its 
purpose remarkably well. Mediocrity, you see, if you will 
only he proud of it, cultivating it assiduously like any other 
advantage, possesses a certain inert force of its own. 
Everybody knows people accept you for what you say you 
are worth, and if you never attempt to succeed, of course 
you need never fail. It is so easy then, and so agreeable, 
sitting far back amongst the equestrian benches, to criticise 
the gladiators in the arena below, depreciating this one’s 
courage, and that one’s bearing, and the wretched fighting 
of a third, inferring, by implication, how much better you 

277 


278 


THE WHITE BOSE 


could do it all yourself, were it but worth while to try. 
Something of this principle had carried Burton hitherto 
successfully enough through the world in which he moved. 
Walking up the Kide now, well-dressed, well-looking, well- 
mannered, he obtained his full share of hows and smiles 
from thoroughbred women sweeping by on thoroughbred 
horses — of familiar nods, and “ how-d’ye do’s ” from lords, 
guardsmen, light-dragoons, and dandies of various calibres ; 
but none of the ladies looked back at him after they had 
passed ; none of the men hooked him familiarly by the arm, 
and turned him round to walk him fifty yards in the 
direction they were themselves going, for the mere pleasure 
of his society. 

He saw Lady Featherbrain’s bay horse stand with its 
head over the rails, at least a quarter of an hour, while its 
beautiful rider argued and gesticulated and talked with eyes, 
hands, shoulders, and chignon, at a dried-up, wizened, 
sunburned man, leaning on an umbrella to listen imperturbably 
while he smoked a cigar. When Bm’ton passed, he took off 
his hat, as in duty bound, and her ladyship, who couldn’t, 
for the life of her, help looking at every man as if she doted 
on him, smiled sweetly in return, but that was all. What 
was there in Jack Thoroughpin, thought the Dandy, thus to 
monopolise the prettiest woman in the Bide ? He was 
anything but good-looking ; he was past forty ; he was 
ruined ; but he remembered hearing one or two strange 
reckless escapades of which Jack had been the hero. It 
was quite true that he jumped into a life-boat last winter, 
when none of the crew would volunteer ; and though he had 
spent two fortunes, had they not both been sacrificed at the 
shrine of an unwise, unhappy, and impossible attachment ? 
There was a vein of pure gold, no doubt, underlying the 
crust of worldliness round Jack Thoroughpin’ s heart ; 
and Lady Featherbrain was woman enough to find it out. 

So Burton walked on pondering, till a little further up 
the Ride he met young Lord Glaramara, a man with whom, 
for many reasons, it would have suited him to have been on 
the most intimate terms. Glaramara’ s shooting in West- 
moreland, his stable at Melton, his drag in London, his 
cook, his cellar, his hospitality, were all irreproachable. 
He was buying yearlings, too, and seemed keen about 


l^ON OUIVIS 


279 


facing, but as yet not a feather had been plucked from the 
pigeon’s wing. A more eligible friend could not be 
conceived, and it was provoking that he should pass the 
Dandy with no warmer greeting than a careless nod, his 
whole attention engrossed by the man with whom he was 
walking arm-in-arm — a fat man, with a white hat, a red 
neckcloth, no gloves, and, yes, — he could not be mistaken, 
— a cotton umbrella ! having, moreover, as he bitterly 
reflected, no earthly merit, but that he once made a good 
speech in the House of Commons, and was the best racket- 
player in England. 

It took more than one downward glance at his own 
faultless attire to restore the Dandy’s equanimity after this 
last shock ; nor was he yet in the best of tempers, when he 
came face to face with his old companion, Dolly Egremont, 
leaning back against the rail, smoking in short nervous 
whiffs, while he glanced uncomfortably from side to side, 
with an anxiety and pre-occupation quite foreign to his 
usual air of good-humoured content. 

This, you see, was Miss Tregunter’s day for riding, at 
five o’clock, and Dolly was watching to see her pass. The 
vigil seemed in many respects to partake of the nature of a 
penance. People in love are sometimes very happy, I 
believe, but their normal state is, doubtless, one of consider- 
able worry and restlessness, best described by the familiar 
expression. Fidget ! 

He was glad, though, to meet the Dandy. These two 
had kept up their boyish friendship, and it is due to Burton 
to say that although he would not have hesitated at sacrific- 
ing Dolly to his own interest, he liked him better than any 
of the acquaintances he had made later in life. 

Mr. Egi’emont seemed not only more abstracted, but 
gi’aver than usual. I am glad to find you here. Dandy,” 
said. he, removing the cigar from his mouth. ‘‘I wanted 
to talk to you about an old friend of ours. We must give 
him a lift between us.” 

‘‘ I’ll do all I can. Have a weed.” 

Burton accepted the proffered refreshment, lit his cigar, 
and nodded. 

“ It’s about poor Jerry,” continued Dolly, still glancing 
from side to side for the flutter of a certain blue habit 


280 


^HE WHITE BOSE 


on a chestnut horse, but warming to his subject never- 
theless. 

“What do you think? He’s turned up. He’s in 
London. I’ve seen him. You’ve no idea how he’s altered. 
Poor Jerry ! What a good-looking chap he used to be 
when we were at Archer’s. Don’t you remember Fanny 
What’s-her-name? — the girl at the mill. Well, here he is, 
after knocking about all over the world. He hasn’t a 
shilling. We must do something for him.” 

The Dandy had listened with as little expression of 
interest as if they had been talking about the weather, 
smoking placidly the while. He roused himself now to 
observe languidly — 

“How? I don’t see why — what do you propose to 
do?” 

“ We musn’t let him starve,” replied Dolly indignantly. 
“ I thought you and I between us might make some sort of 
provision for him in the meantime, till we can get him 
employment.” 

“As a crossing-sweeper, do you mean? ” asked Burton. 
“ I don’t believe I’ve interest even for that. Go as low as 
you will, the supply seems greater than the demand.” 

“ Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden keys, 

Still, I don’t despair. I’ll think it over, if you please,” 

replied Dolly musingly. “ Well, you’ll help him, at any 
rate, if you can.” 

To promise costs nothing, so Burton readily engaged 
himself thus far, and Dolly proceeded in more hopeful 
tones — 

“ I knew I could count upon his old friends. After all, 
people are much better than the world gives them credit 
for. I could tell you of one who has behaved like a trump, 
only I am not sure whether I ought, and perhaps she 
wouldn’t like anybody to know.” 

Honest Dolly, admiring it extremely, was burning to 
trumpet forth Mrs. Vandeleur’s generosity to the world in 
general. 

“ She ! ” answered Burton. “ Ah ! if it’s a She have no 
scruples. Never keep faith with a woman, nor break it 
with a man. That’s the fundamental principle that holds 


NON CUIVIS 


281 


society together. I tell you, my dear fellow, they like 
being deceived. Hang me, if I don’t think they like being 
shown up ! At least they always seem to do it for them- 
selves if you’re too cautious to do it for ’em. Out with it, 
Dolly ; who’s the Lady Bountiful ? ” 

‘‘ I know you don’t mean what you say, and I feel safe 
in telling you,” answered Dolly, “because you are one of 
tis. It’s Mrs. Vandeleur, Dandy. That’s the best woman 
in Europe ! ” 

“ There are not many to choose from,” answered Burton, 
in his most imperturbable tones, and keeping down with an 
effort the expression he feared would rise to his face, as of 
one who had just been dealt “ four-by-honours ” in his 
hand. “ Let’s take a turn amongst the carriages, Dolly. 
I can’t see from here whether any of our admirers have 
arrived or not.” So speaking, he linked his arm in his 
friend’s, and the two sauntered leisurely across the Ride 
towards a double line of carriages drawn up under the 
trees. 

Dolly was nothing loth. He had watched like a patient 
deer-stalker long enough in one place, and thought it time 
to change his post. Also, he was a little angry — men 
always are when disappointed — because chance had been 
against him to-day. With the noble sense of justice and 
logical sagacity peculiar to the position, he blamed Miss 
Tregunter severely for missing him in a crowd of five 
hundred people, convinced that she could have changed her 
whole sentiments and forgotten him in the twelve hours 
that had elapsed since he saw her last. 

So absorbed was Mr. Egremont in such uncomfortable 
reflections, that he was nearly ridden over by the lady of 
his affections herself, who was looking for him, truth to 
tell, on the footway, and, quick-sighted as women generally 
are in such matters, failed to detect him immediately under 
her horse’s nose. He thought she did it on purpose, and 
turned pale with vexation, leaving the Park forthwith, and 
excusing himself to his friend, by pleading the necessity of 
dressing for an early dinner. Burton, on the contrary, had 
observed the whole performance, puffing tranquilly at his 
cigar the while, resolved to take advantage of this, as of all 
other chances in the game. Watching, therefore, the turn 


28^ 


THE WHITE nOSE 


of tlie tide, he stopped Miss Tregunter, as she drifted back, 
so to speak, with the ebb, walking her horse listlessly in 
the direction from which she had started, and wondering in 
her heart what had become of Dolly Egremont. 

You see, though these young people had made no actual 
assignation in so many words, there had been a sort of 
tacit agreement that they should meet at this hour in this 
place. Their attachment, too, had bloomed to that degree 
of maturity at which jealousy has already been kindled, 
while mutual confidence is not yet established : so, mis- 
trusting each other considerably, they spent a good deal of 
time unpleasantly enough, attributing unworthy motives to 
the necessary and commonplace doings of daily life. 

Miss Tregunter, reining up the chestnut horse to converse 
with her professed admirer, Mr. Burton, felt sufficiently 
piqued at Dolly’s fancied negligence to punish herself and 
him at one stroke ; so she affected great pleasure in thus 
meeting the Dandy, and beamed down on him from her 
ascendancy of fifteen hands and a half with a fascinating 
coquetry, that, like the rest of her sex, she could put on as 
easily as a double lace veil. 

The Dandy accepted all such advances with laudable 
equanimity. He believed them only his due ; hut in the 
present instance he “means business,” as he called it, and 
responded more warmly than usual. Straightening her 
horse’s mane with a caressing hand, he looked up in her 
face, and regretted, mom’nfully, “ that she had dropped her 
old friends, and he never saw her now.” 

“ Whose fault is that? ” replied the lady. “ I suppose 
you don’t expect me to drive down to White’s and ask 
those stupid waiters if Mr. Burton is in the club. Be 
quiet. Tomboy ! ” — for Tomboy, whisking his well-bred 
tail, was kicking sharply at a fiy behind his girths — “ No, 
I’m like the fairy in the song, ‘ those that would see me 
must search for me weU.’ ” 

“ I thought fairies were ugly old women on crutches,” 
answered the Dandy. “ You’ve not grown very ugly yet. 
Well, ‘ qui cherche t7'0uve,’ I suppose. Shall you he in the 
Park to-morrow? ” 

“ To-morrow ? ” repeated Miss Tregunter. “ Certainly 
not. To-morrow’s Sunday. I don t believe you can count 


NON GUIVI8 


283 


the days of the week. But I shall ride on Monday at 
twelve ; and as I know you can’t get up till two, my 
movements need not affect you one way or the other.” 

So saying, Miss Tregunter cantered off, a little ashamed 
of herself, as well she might he, and wishing, before the 
chestnut was settled in his stride, that she had not allowed 
pique so to get the better of her, as to make her disloyal, 
in word or manner, for one moment, to the man she 
loved. 

Burton looked after her, whistled softly, smiled, shook his 
head, put his cigar in his mouth again, and strolled on. 

“ I believe that would be my best game now,” he said to 
himself. She really is a catch ; there’s such a lot of 
ready money. I always thought she liked Dolly best till 
to-day. But there’s no accounting for their fancies, and I 
might win on the post after all ! And yet — and yet — if I 
could have the pick of the basket, and need only please my- 
self, it’s not you, with your red cheeks. Miss Janey, that I 
would choose.” 

I need hardly say the Dandy was not romantic, and a 
sentiment, so foreign to his practical natoe, died out 
almost as soon as it arose, long before he could reach the 
vision from which it took its birth. 

That vision was but the glimpse of a pale proud face in a 
light transparent bonnet, looking like a pearl of great price 
among its surroundings, making them seem but mosaic and 
tawdry jewellery in comparison. A face such as passes 
before weary, wicked, world-worn men in their dreams, 
reminding them in its beauty, of the pm-er, holier feelings 
their waking hours never knew ; of love, and hope, and 
trust, of the ‘‘ better part ” they put away in wilful blind- 
ness long ago, and can never share again. 

It fleeted swiftly by, that winsome delicate face, in an 
open carriage with a pair of high-stepping horses, driven by 
a body-coachman, portly in girth and rubicund of aspect, well 
worthy of the name, to be drawn up in a shady spot under 
the elms, whereto the Dandy picked his way jauntily, for 
whether she encouraged him or not, it was worth while 
to appear before the world on terms of easy intimacy with 
handsome Mrs. Vandeleur. 

The White Kose could not be long in any one place on a 


284 


THE WHITE BOSE 


sunny afternoon without finding herself surrounded by a 
swarm of summer-insects. Half-a-dozen of the best-dressed 
and best-looking young gentlemen in the Park were about 
her carriage when the Dandy anived. It stung her to the 
quick to observe that they all made way for him, as if he, 
forsooth, had a better right than others to monopolize her 
society and engross her conversation ; she bowed, therefore, 
with marked coldness, and turned her head to talk to a 
pretty boy, fresh from Eton, on the other side of the 
carriage. 

But the Dandy thought he had got more than one pull 
over her now, and determined she should feel it, so he laid 
his hand on her arm to arrest her attention ; and, regardless 
of the angry gesture with which she shook it off, observed 
in a tone of confidential intimacy — 

“ I have just heard something that concerns us ; I want 
to talk it over with you, as soon as possible.” 

She turned a very haughty face upon him while she 
replied — 

“More business, Mr. Burton? I should have thought 
you and I had bored one another enough for one day. I 
can answer for myself, at least ! ” 

The listeners could not forbear smiling, and the late 
Etonian laughed outright. Two hours after he told his 
neighbour at the Blues’ mess, how “It was a regular ‘nose- 
ender ’ for the Dandy, and he was glad of it ! ” 

Burton lost his temper at once, and his vantage-ground 
with it. 

“ If you choose to trust me with your business-matters, 
Mrs. Vandeleur,” said he, shortly, “ I must talk them over 
with you. I have spent three mornings in the City on your 
affairs, within the last fortnight, so you see the trouble is 
not all one way.” 

“ Don’t be afraid,” she retorted scornfully, “ you shall 
be paid your commission. Half-a-crown in the pound, I 
think, isn’t it ? Sir Henry, will you kindly tell my coach- 
man to go home.” 

But before that thoroughly respectable servant could 
start his horses, Burton had recovered himself, and fired a 
parting shot. 

“Don’t think I mind the trouble,” said he, calling up a 


NON CUIVIS 


286 


most affectionate expression of countenance, and leaning 
well into the carriage. ‘‘ After all, we’re partners, are we 
not ? We must stand or fall together, and your interests 
are the same as mine ! ” 

I am afraid Mrs. Vandeleur shed some bitter tears that 
evening before she went to dress for dinner. She had 
plenty of courage, the White Rose, and seldom gave way, 
but she longed for somebody to cherish and protect her now, 
somebody who would not have suffered her to be placed 
in such a false position, somebody whose voice used to 
be music, his glance sunshine, his presence safety. It 
was cruel, cruel to think she ought never to see him 
now ! 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


SHINING BIVER 

Gerard had been working hard for some weeks, so the play 
was nearly ready for rehearsal. He was very sick of it too, 
and began to think he owed himself a little relaxation. 
Money matters, also, were no longer so difficult a subject 
as formerly, thanks to the supplies received from an un- 
known source through Dolly Egremont. That gentleman, 
while professing and indeed displaying great interest in his 
former fellow-pupil, obstinately declined to furnish the 
slightest cue to the discovery of his benefactor, and Gerard, 
with an enforced philosophy, made up his mind that he had 
better sit down contented to enjoy ‘‘the goods the gods 
provided.” 

Dolly, too, had determined upon taking a day’s pleasure 
over and above his ordinary allowance in the week. He 
was restless and preoccupied, therefore more prone than 
usual to excitement. A state of hot water was quite foreign 
to his easy-going habits, and made him uncomfortable; 
more, it made him unhappy. 

Miss Tregunter seemed a puzzle that grew day by day 
more difficult to explain. Her honest admirer, unskilled in 
the ways of women, could not make head or tail of her 
behaviour. He remembered long ago, how pleased she 
used to be when they met, how frank and cordial was her 
manner, how unrestrained her mirth. Now she never 
seemed to look him straight in the face. She avoided him 
in company, and appeared actually afraid to he left alone 
with him. 


SHINING EIVEB 


287 


Afraid ! And he would have laid down his life for her 
with pleasure on any door-step in London ! So he argued 
that she was tired of him, offended with him, hated him, 
and in this hasty conclusion, showed, I think, considerable 
ignorance of those intricate channels he had undertaken to 
navigate. 

Now, Dolly, who apart from the influence of his lady-love 
was an open-hearted convivial fellow enough, had given an 
entertainment some few weeks before to the members of 
his company at the Accordion — an entertainment which, 
beginning with a dinner and ending with a dance, had 
afforded unlimited satisfaction to those invited ; but un- 
fortunately some half dozen of the corps had been prevented 
from attending, by a summons to assist at the private 
theatricals of a great lady twenty miles from London. 

Miss Carmine, Mr. Belgrave, with certain other dramatic 
celebrities, had thus missed thefr share of the manager’s 
hospitalities, and Dolly thought he could not do better than 
invite these absentees to a quiet little entertainment at 
Kichmond, where they might enjoy sunshine, scenery, 
eating, drinking, smoking, boating, and flirting to their 
heart’s content. It was a good opportunity, he told 
Gerard, for the author to become acquainted with some of 
those talented individuals who were to clothe the sketches 
of his brain in living reality, and insisted on his being 
present. 

Gerard Ainslie, after much debate in his own mind, had 
resolved to devote that particular day to another peep at 
Mrs. Vandeleur. He hungered, poor fellow, to see her 
again, nay, to feel the touch of her hand, to hear the sound 
of her voice once more, and he had hardened his heart to 
go and call upon her at her own house. For this purpose 
he dressed himself as well as his now replenished ward- 
robe would admit, and leaving the Eichmond question open, 
proceeded early in the afternoon to knock at her door, 
devoutly hoping the summons might not be answered by his 
former acquaintance, Mr. Eobert Smart. So far, fortune 
favoured him ; the portly butler, who was on the eve of 
stepping round to his club, kindly informing him that Mrs. 
Vandeleur was “not at home,’’ and adding, in the plenitude 
of his good-humour, the fm-ther statement that “ she had 


288 


THE WHITE BOSE 


gone down to Richmond, and wouldn’t be back till the 
evening.” 

To Richmond ! He hesitated no longer. Shutting his 
eyes to its obvious improbability, he even cherished a hope 
that he might find her one of the party he was about to join. 
For a moment life looked as bright as when he was nine- 
teen, and in less than an hour he had torn off half his 
return ticket, and was running like a boy up the wooden 
steps of Richmond station. 

At the Castle he asked for Mr. Egremont’s party, and 
was ushered on to the lawn, where he found a bevy of 
sauntering, over-dressed ladies, waiting impatiently for 
dinner, but nothing like Norah’s stately figure, and pale 
beautiful face, look where he would. 

His heart turned sick, this rough, gold-digging adventurer, 
like some weak girl disappointed in her silly romantic dream. 
What a sham it all looked ! Even the golden sunshine and 
the sparkling river seemed to partake of the foil and tinsel 
and gas-light of the stage. 

“We had almost given you up, Gerard,” said Dolly’s 
cheerful voice, as his host emerged on the lawn from one of 
the side-rooms and took him kindly by the arm. “ Dinner’s 
just ready. This way, Mrs. Golightly. This way. Miss 
White. Belgrave, bring up the rest of the ladies. Ainslie, 
will you sit by Miss Carmine ? Take the covers off, waiter 
— turtle — all right ! Shut that door and put the lemon on 
the table. Mrs. Golightly, clear, or thick ? Have both ! ” 

Gerard, recovering his equanimity, glanced round the 
table at his new friends. Miss Carmine, sitting next to 
him, was not half so pretty as he expected, and a good deal 
older than she looked on the stage. Lydia Goddard and 
Jessie White seemed merry, sparkling girls, with more than 
their share of comeliness ; hut Mrs. Golightly, who sat 
opposite, oppressed him from the first with sensations of 
astonishment and awe. Somebody must have told her she 
was like Mrs. Siddons, and her dignity of manner was, in 
consequence, crushing. The mere nohle, as French people 
call it, was obviously her part, and very well she played it, 
even while eating whitebait at a Richmond dinner. 

Actors and actresses seem the only artists who are never 
ashamed of “ talking shop.” They glory in their profession. 


SHINING BIVER 


289 


and why should they not ? Miss Carmine, stealing a good 
look at Gerard, and approving of what she saw, soon em- 
barked on the favourite subject. 

** So you’re writing us a play, Mr. Ainslie,” said the 
accomplished actress, her features waking into beauty when 
she spoke. “ You see we know all about it. You men 
can’t keep a secret, clever as you think yom’selves.” 

‘‘ I’m only proud you should take an interest in it,” 
answered Gerard, courteously. ‘‘I wish I could write 
something more worthy of the acting.” 

Lydia Goddard looked up from a lobster rissole, and Jessie 
White desisted from her occupation of making faces at Mr. 
Belgrave. There was something in the tone of his voice 
that was sweet to a woman’s ear, and they acknowledged 
the charm, just as Fanny Draper had acknowledged it to 
her ruin and his, long ago. 

Even Mrs. Golightly bent her brows on him with qualified 
approval. 

“It is a responsibility, young sir,” said the stately lady. 
“ I am glad you acknowledge its gravity. Our time and 
talents are too precious to be wasted on the vague wander- 
ings of incompetency. Said I well, mine host ? ” 

“ Of course you did,” answered Dolly, waking up from a 
brown study, for he too felt the oppression of Mrs. Go- 
lightly. 

“ Breathes there the man with soul so dead, 

That never to himself hath said, 

An actor’s part becomes his bread. 

I’ve seen a good deal of the manuscript, and like it. I can 
tell you, ladies and gentlemen, we haven’t had such a thing 
out for years. Waiter — champagne ! ” 

“ You’ve written a very effective part for me, I’m told,” 
said Miss Carmine aside, looking softly at her neighbour 
out of her eloquent eyes. “ You don’t know how grateful 
I am to people who take such pains on my behalf.” 

“ I should think you could carry off the weakest style of 
writing,” answered Gerard gallantly, feeling nevertheless a 
little out of his element, “ you need only come to the front 
and say ‘ boh ! ’ to him, to make a goose of the wisest of 


19 


290 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“ That’s nonsense,” observed Mrs. Golightly in imperial 
tones, but Miss Carmine would not hear her, and turned 
with a pleased face on the host. 

“ I like the idea of Violante immensely,” said she, fixing 
Dolly in his tm-n with a charming smile, it’s exactly my 
style, you know ; I quite long to begin studying it.” 

The manager fidgeted uneasily in his chair. He was in 
trouble already about this confounded drama, which he had 
accepted, after all, only to do Gerard a kindness. If the 
American actress came over, of course she would insist on 
playing Violante ; then Miss Carmine would take huff, 
and there was sure to he a row! ‘‘It’s not all beer 
and skittles managing a theatre,” thought Dolly, but he 
held up his glass to be filled, and looked as pleasant as he 
could. 

“ You’ve got some nice words for poor me, haven’t you, 
Mr. Ainslie ? ” said Jessie White, imploringly and coquet- 
tishly too, from the other end of the table. 

“And I’m to he a page, in blue and white and spangles ! ” 
added Miss Goddard, clapping her hands with innocent 
glee, like a child of five-and-twenty, as she was. “Belgrave 
has been telling me all about it. Mind you give me plenty 
of business, there’s a good fellow, and as close to the foot- 
lights as you can ! ” 

“ I’ve done my very best for both of you, ’’answered Gerard, 
bowing over the glass in his hand, “ and I can alter your 
parts till they fit you like your dresses,” he added, con- 
gratulating himself that he had not written a word for either 
of them, the while. 

“Isn’t he a duck?” whispered Jessie White to Miss 
Goddard; and “Ain’t you a goose?” answered the 
practical Lydia. “ WLy, Jessie, you little idiot, he’s old 
enough to be your father I ” 

Mrs. Golightly cleared her voice portentously. 

“ I have yet to learn,” said she, glaring at the hapless 
author, “ how far Mr. Ainslie has sacrificed the interests 
of art to the paltry exigencies of our modern school ; to 
what extent the dialogue, the situations, the characters, and 
the plot tend to develop our object in the abstract idea of 
tragedy. What, sir, do you conceive is om- object in the 
abstract idea of tragedy ? ” 


SEINING EIVEE 


291 


This was a poser for Gerard. Fortunately Mr. Bar- 
rington-Belgrave came to his rescue. 

“ There isn’t a morsel of bad -business in the whole of 
it,” said he, dogmatically ; “ every one of us from first to 
last has enough to do and to spare. No claret, thank you, 
Mr. Egremont, — coffee ? — if you please. Mrs. Golightly 
and ladies, may I ask your keyind permission to indulge in 
a cigar ? ” 

As soon as smoking began, it was but natural that the 
little party should adjourn to the lawn, and break itself up 
into small knots of two and three. Jessie White and Lydia 
Goddard, after an ineffectual pounce at the author, contented 
themselves with Mr. Belgrave and a grave man, hitherto 
very silent, who was great in low comedy. Mrs. Golightly 
secured the manager, and Gerard Ainslie, as being in a 
certain sense the lion of the party, fell to the lot of Kate 
Carmine. 

She seemed pleased with the arrangement, conversing 
volubly and pleasantly enough, while they walked round 
and round the gravel-walk ; her companion puffing thought- 
fully at his cigar, and thinking how fragrant was the scent 
of the June roses, how fair the tinted glories of the evening 
sky — how calm and tranquil the broad river, glowing in a 
crimson flush of sunset ; how full of tender memories, and 
vanished hopes, and longings for the impossible, that parting 
hom\ which may well be called “the sweet of the summer’s 
day!” 

What a world it might have been ! And here he was, 
after a noisy dinner, talking London scandal with an 
actress I 

She seemed to know everybody, and all about every- 
thing that was going on. She was amusing too, and related 
with considerable fun the last scrape into which Lady 
Featherbrain had inadvertently fallen, the domestic 
difference between the Eingdoves, and Mrs. Ringdove’s un- 
answerable reasons for insisting on a separation, the late 
bill-discounting business brought to a climax by Hyacinth’s 
winning the Ascot Cup, with the names of half-a-dozen 
noblemen and gentlemen, extremely pleasant people, and 
particular friends of her own, who were likely to disappear 
in consequence. 


292 


THE WHITE BOSE 


A light breeze sighed through the elms on the other side 
of the river. Miss Carmine was seized with a romantic 
desire to make a little expedition on the water. 

Mr. Ainslie,” she said, in her most winning accents, 

“ don’t let us waste such a heavenly evening ; the train is 
not till ten. Why shouldn’t you pull — I mean scull — me 
about a little before we go hack to London ? ” 

‘‘Willingly,” answered Gerard, ready to go up in a 
balloon, or do anything anybody proposed, now that he had 
finished his cigar. “ Down these steps. Miss Carmine. 
Take care of your dress in the mud — one foot on the 
thwarts — sit in the middle — that’s it ! Never mind the 
rudder ; we don’t want it, nor the waterman. Hand us 
that right-hand scull. That’s a smart chap ! Now shove 
off! ” 

Thus, by an energetic push from a one-eyed boatman, 
the light skiff, with an end of Miss Carmine’s scarf trailing 
over the side, was fairly launched on the bosom of the 
Thames. 

“Am I quite safe?” smiled the actress, and it was 
marvellous how much of beauty she could call at will into 
her smile. “ Can I trust myself with you, Mr. Ainslie, or 
shall we both come to gTief ? ” 

He answered with pardonable vanity, and perhaps more 
literally than she expected — 

“ I have pulled a whale-boat in the Pacific and paddled 
a canoe on Lake Huron. You needn’t fear an upset. Miss 
Carmine. I could swim with you, I believe, from here to 
London Bridge if the tide served ! ” 

“What a life yours must have been! ” said the lady, 
appearing deeply interested ; “so exciting, so romantic ! I 
am so fond of adventurers and adventures ! I wish you 
would tell me all yours.” 

“What, from the beginning?” answered Gerard, sculling 
lustily against stream. “ You are prepared, then, to stay 
out all night ? I’ve had a good many years of it. I’m an 
old man now.” 

“ Old ! ” expostulated Miss Carmine. “ Why, you’re 
barely thirty — ^reflecting that she herself was a good bit ’ 
past that age. “ No, just give me a rough sketch of your ) 

life. It amuses, it instructs me! When did you go abroad? I 


SHINING BIVER 


293 


Wliat made you leave England? Was it — was it — dis- 
appointment ? ” 

She looked down after she spoke, and watched the ripple 
of the boat through the water. It was very prettily done 
— ^very prettily indeed. What Gerard might have replied 
we shall never learn, for a hoarse voice at the very nose of 
his boat shouted, not uncivilly, to know ‘‘ where he was a- 
comin’ to ? ” And a scull, shifted as quickly as his own, 
allowed another skiff to glide past them down-stream, with 
about eighteen inches interval. In that boat, pulled by an 
ancient mariner of Teddington, sat a lady and gentleman. 
The pale face of the former flashed upon Gerard Ainslie’s 
eyes like a vision, for it was none other than Mrs. Yan- 
deleur ! Not altered — no, except that it seemed to him 
more beautiful than ever — not altered by a single line from 
the Norah Welby of Marston, from the ideal of womanly 
perfection and purity and grace that he had carried in his 
heart through all those years of toil, danger, sorrow, and 
privation. He had hoped to see her to-day — but not like 
this. 

Had she recognised him ? He could not tell. The boat 
sped so fast down-stream under the waterman’s long, 
powerful strokes, and the twilight was already darkening 
into night. Nor had he identified her cavalier, who was 
stooping at the moment to arrange a cloak or cushion at 
her feet. The whole thing was so instantaneous that but 
for his companion’s remark he might have been persuaded 
fancy had played him false. 

“ That’s a case^ I imagine,” said Miss Carmine, not 
observing her oarman’s discomposure, or attributing it, 
perhaps, to the violent exercise. “ They call her a beauty, 
too, still ; but what they can see in her I can’t for the life 
of me make out. She’s much too tall, looks horrid dis- 
dainful, and as pale as a ghost.” 

“ She ? who ? ” asked Gerard, slackening his efforts, and 
preparing to put the boat about for a return. 

“ Why, Mrs. Yandeleur,” answered his companion ; “I 
thought you knew her by the way she stared. She’ll know 
us again, at any rate.” 

“ And the gentleman ? ” asked Gerard in a choking 
voice, backing water vigorously with one scull the while. 


294 


THE WHITE ROSE 


“ Oh ! that was Burton,” answered Miss Carmine ; 
“Dandy Burton, they call him. I suppose they’ll get 
married, those two ; and I’m sure it’s time they did. They’ve 
been talked about long enough.” 

It was indeed no other than Gerard’s old fellow-pupil 
whom he thus met so unexpectedly with his unforgotten 
love. The White Kose had been persuaded to join Lady 
Billesdon’s water-party that day at Kichmond, and they 
had all gone up the river in diiferent four-oars, skiffs, and 
wherries, to visit the roaring cataract at Teddington Lock. 
Here, however, two young ladies, protesting they were 
“ bad sailors,” insisted on returning by road ; and the 
consequent change of arrangements compelled Mrs. Van- 
deleur, unless she wished to appear both rude and 
ridiculous, to make the homeward voyage with Mr. Burton. 
The two felt the calm of the summer evening, the influence 
of the quiet lovely scene. Her silence and abstraction did 
not escape the Dandy’s notice, who flattered himself he 
had at last succeeded in making an impression, which he 
was careful not to disturb by loquacity or interruption. 
Neither of them, therefore, volunteered a remark on the 
boat they had so nearly run down, and they hardly 
exchanged a syllable till they reached the place of dis- 
embarkation, when they observed simultaneously that “ it 
was a beautiful evening ; they had spent a pleasant day ; 
it was high time to order the carriages and so parted for 
the night. 

Gerard, too, pulled his freight back to Bichmond, sad 
and silent, as the “ wordless man ” who brought the Dead 
Lily of Astolat to the lordly towers of Arthur’s royal 
palace. Miss Carmine could not make him out ; but 
recollecting her own undoubted charms of person, manner, 
and conversation, accounted for his insensibility to all three 
by a fit of indigestion, the result of rowing too soon after 
dinner. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


A REFUSAL 

^‘Dreams always go by contraries,” yawned Miss Tre- 
gunter, waking from her morning slumber for the 
accustomed cup of tea to fortify her against the toil of 
dressing. ‘‘ How I wish they didn’t ! ” added this young 
lady, recalling with some difficulty the vision in which she 
had been steeped scarce five minutes ago. 

She dreamt she was at a fancy ball in the character of 
Belinda, with high-heeled shoes, farthingale, patches, and 
an enormous superstructure of hair-pins, hair-rolls, hair- 
powder, and pomatum. She knew she was looking her 
best, and was engaged to dance her first minuet with the 
Archbishop of Canterbury. It seemed the most natural 
thing in the world that this prelate, on coming to make his 
bow, should be dressed as an Indian brave — scalps, 
mocassins, war-paint, wampum, beads, and blanket, all 
complete ; that, without resigning church preferment, or 
losing primitive freedom, he should carry her off, then and 
there, to his lodge in Kensington Gardens, where he bade 
her sit on a camp-stool and skin a dead buffalo, while he 
stepped down to Albert Gate for a look in at Tattersall’s ; 
that, having no instruments but a pair of nail-scissors, she 
made a horrid mess of the buffalo, but skinned him at last, 
to find Dolly Egremont concealed beneath his hide ; that 
Dolly then explained at great length his views on savage 
life in general, wound up by a declaration that he couldn’t 
live another day without her, and while he pressed her for 
an answer to a very important question, raised her hand 


296 


THE WHITE BOSE 


and was in the act of laying it to his lips, when — how 
provoking ! — her maid came in with the tea, and she 
awoke. 

What puppets we are ! Even dreams affect us more 
than we would like to admit. Miss Tregunter thought of 
a good many things while she was dressing, on which she 
had never pondered so deeply before. 

In the first place, she allowed herself to wonder, seriously, 
why she had seen so little of Mr. Egremont during the last 
few days, whether he had merely grown careless about her, 
or whether she could in any way have offended him. If 
so, whether such display of ill-humour was not the best 
possible sign, as denoting keen interest in herself ? It was 
odd that she never suspected him of jealousy. Perhaps 
she felt so unconscious of having given him cause. Not for 
a moment did it occur to her that she had been more than 
commonly civil to Dandy Burton, and little did she 
imagine the hopes and schemes of which she was the object 
in that gentleman’s designing brain. Miss Tregunter was 
a simple-minded person enough, and hardly aware of her 
own advantages as a pleasant comely young woman, 
possessed of money in the funds. Although in truth one 
of the best catches” of her year, she would have laughed 
in anybody’s face who told her so ; cherishing, indeed, 
with sufficient obstinacy, the romantic notions of a milk- 
maid on all matters connected with love and matrimony. 
If ever she was married, she had vowed at fifteen, it should 
be for herself, not reflecting, for young ladies are but 
shallow philosophers, how much of that very self consists 
in externals. Take away education, refinement, social 
position, all such advantages of Fortune’s caprice, and, to 
use a hackneyed metaphor, you leave but the gem, uncut, 
unpolished, and without its setting — the intrinsic value 
is, perhaps, nearly the same ; hut instead of wearing it 
abroad you probably hide it carefully away, and leave it at 
home. 

Miss Tregunter was a gem no doubt in her way, but 
ever since she could remember, she had been brightened 
and worked up by the best jewellers. Deprived of both 
parents in childhood, she had been educated by an aunt, a 
Mrs. Maurice Tregunter, related to that deaf Lady Baker, 


A BEFUSAL 


297 


in whom I fear it would be impossible to excite interest. 
With this aunt, or rather aunt by marriage, not a little to 
the advantage of that relative, the young heiress lived, in 
the country, hut a few miles from Oakover, and “went 
out ” in London. 

The chaperon and her charge got on exceedingly well in 
both places, none the less, perhaps, that the young lady 
was passionately fond of riding, an exercise from which the 
elder was debarred by physical causes, the result of good 
living and content. It was the girl’s favourite exercise, 
and nowhere more so than in London. She used to vow 
that late hours and hot rooms would be too much for her 
without the restorative of a fresh inspiriting canter 
before luncheon the following day. She was not believed, 
because of her rosy cheeks ; nevertheless, the horses 
came to the door as regularly as if her life depended 
on that remedy alone, and although she loved a hall 
dearly, none better, she often declared she would resign 
satin shoes willingly for life, rather than give up the side- 
saddle. 

Jane Tregunter looked well on horseback; nobody better. 
She had a light, trim, wfry figure, especially adapted to 
those feats of skill which depend on balance. Her tapering 
limbs seemed firm and strong ; while her hands and feet, 
though none of the smallest, were extremely well- shaped. 
In skating and dancing she was no mean proficient ; could 
waltz “ figm’es of eight ” round two chairs, and do “ outside 
edges ” backwards, with the best performers ; hut never 
perhaps felt so completely in her element as when mounted 
on her chestnut horse, “ Tomboy,” giving him what she 
called “ a spin.” 

Tomboy was usually in good wind — as well he might be 
— for his young mistress indulged him in these “ spins,” 
by which expression she understood a rousing gallop, 
without drawing bridle, from Apsley House to Kensington 
Gate, on every available opportunity, and as she rode four 
or five times a week, her horse was somewhat lighter in 
girth and fuller in muscle than most of the fellow-labourers 
that roused his emulation in the Park. Many an approving 
glance was cast after them by mounted dandies of every 
calibre as the pair swept by — the lengthy, well-bred 


298 


THE WHITE BOSE 


chestnut, with his smooth elastic stride, harmonizing 
so fairly in the real “ poetry of motion ” with the neat, 
small-waisted figure of his rider, in its blue habit, its 
perfectly-fitting gloves, its glistening chignon, and pro- 
vokingly saucy hat. 

Admiring glances, though, were the utmost tribute any 
cavalier was permitted to offer — ^Lady Baker, when she 
took the responsibility of chaperoning Miss Tregunter in 
her aunt’s absence, having made it a sine qua non 
that the young lady should refuse all escort in these 
rides, save that of the venerable groom, who followed 
a hundred yards behind, and whose maxims, both of 
personal comfort and stable management, were consider- 
ably deranged by his young mistress’s liberal notion of 
pace. 

It may be that Dandy Burton was aware of this standing 
order when he resolved to march a-foot in his attack on the 
heiress, during the meeting which she had almost suggested, 
in the Park. He had been induced of late, partly in con- 
sequence of his money-transactions with Mrs. Vandeleur, 
to look into his own affairs, and had found, like many of his 
companions, that his income, though a good one, was quite 
unequal to his expenditure. Of course he could see but one 
way out of the difficulty. He must marry an heiress — why 
not Miss Tregunter? There she was, an oldish young 
lady, still unappropriated, dividends and all ! She had 
been out a good many years now; she must be waiting 
for somebody; probably for himself. The iron was never 
likely to be hotter than at present ; he had better strike 
at once. 

Now Mr. Burton, though like most Englishmen he was 
a rider, was not a horseman. The former merely suffers 
himself to be carried ; the latter both gives and receives 
excitement, spirit, and energy from the exhilarating 
partnership of man and beast. He, whose home is in 
the saddle, feels equal to all emergencies when in his 
favourite position ; his courage rises, his shyness vanishes, 
his self-reliance is redoubled, he feels twice the man, and 
he never looks to such advantage as on horseback ; but 
the Dandy, though he had passed through his riding- 
school drill creditably enough, entertained more confidence 


A BFFUSAL 


299 


in his own powers, moral and physical, when on foot, and 
would have felt extremely loth to hazard even a declaration 
of love, much more an offer of marriage, from the back of a 
light-hearted quadruped, whose ill-timed gambols might at 
any moment render the most important of questions abortive, 
the most favourable of answers inaudible. 

Thus reflecting, and aware, moreover, that the lady might 
refuse him permission altogether, to accompany her in a 
ride, the Dandy, dressed for walking with exceeding care, 
armed, moreover, with the thickest cigar, and the thinnest 
umbrella fabricated in London, took up his post, about 
half-past twelve, opposite the nearest gate of Kensington 
Gardens, and waited, not very patiently, for the arrival 
of Miss Tregunter. 

Considering how little he cared for her, he was rather 
surprised to find how nervous he was. His mouth felt dry, 
though that might be the effect of his cigar, the worst, of 
course, in the whole batch ; but why his hands should turn 
cold, and his face hot, he was at a loss to understand. He 
had proposed to three or four women before, and except in 
one instance, long ago, when he really cared, it was little 
more than asking them to dance. He must be getting 
shaky, he thought, losing his nerve, beginning to grow old ! 
Raison de plus, by Jove ! and here she came, as usual at a 
gallop ! 

It was a fiercer gallop than common. Tomboy knew as 
well as his mistress that she was put out, vexed, hurt, 
irritated, angry. Dolly Egremont had not been near 
her for three whole days, and Lady Baker, deaf as 
she was, had heard of his dining ‘‘ with a lot of 
actresses, my dear, and those sort of people, such a pity ! ” 
at Richmond. 

Janey was, therefore, at her worst. The frost is never so 
bitter as just before its break-up, and it needed no weather- 
wise prophet to foretell that her severity would ere long thaw, 
and dissolve itself in a flood of tears. 

Being piqued with one lover, she naturally returned the 
salutation of another with suspicious cordiality. Nay, 
reining up Tomboy, she sidled him, snorting and glowing 
all over, close to the foot-path ; shaldng hands with Burton 
across the rail, and observing meaningly, that he must 


300 


THE WHITE ROSE 


have a good memory, and she hoped his early rising 
wouldn’t do him any harm ! ” 

Thus encouraged, the Dandy made his plunge. “ Miss 
Tregunter,” said he, looking imploringly up in her face, 
and then glancing at the groom, to make sure he was out 
of hearing. “ You’re always laughing at a fellow — will you 
promise not to laugh at me, if I tell you something ? I’m 
in earnest. Upon my soul I am ! ” 

“Ain’t I as grave as a judge?” she replied comically, but 
her heart beat faster, and she didn’t quite like it. 

“You won’t believe me,” he continued, speaking very 
quick, and scanning the ride anxiously each way, in fear 
of interruption. “ I’m not the sort of man you think. 
I — I’m a domestic fellow in reality. I was happy enough 
till I began to — to like you so much. Now I’m so bored if 
I don’t see you, I’m perfectly miserable. I’ve been watching 
for you here, at least an hour,” (he dashed away the cigar 
not half smoked out, that he had lighted when he had 
took up his station there), “will you — won’t you, give 
me a right to wait for you, and ride with you, and walk 
with you, and take you about with me everywhere as my 
wife ? ” 

Then he wished he had not thrown his cigar away, there 
was such an awkward pause while she looked straight between 
her horse’s ears. 

For one moment she wavered. He was handsome, he 
was well-known, he had a certain spurious reputation, and 
it would make Dolly so miserable ! This last consideration 
brought with it the necessary reaction. All her better 
nature rose in appeal against such an act of rebellion, and 
Jane Tregunter never seemed so lovely nor so womanly as, 
while looking frankly down, straight into the Dandy’s eyes, 
she laid her hand in his, and said gently hut decidedly, 
“ You pay me a higher compliment, Mr. Burton, than I 
deserve ; nay, than I desire. Many other women would 
make you far happier than I should. Believe me, I am 
proud of your admiration, and I value your friendship. I 
shall not lose it, shall I, because I am honest and straight- 
forward in saying No ? ” 

Then she bowed her head, tightened her veil, put Tomboy 
into a gallop, and never stopped till she reached her own 





“ ‘ Because I am honest and straightforward in saying no.’ ” 

The White Rose.^ [Page 30O 




A BEFUSAL 


301 


door, where, dismissing him with a kiss in the very middle of 
his nose, she ran upstairs, locked herself into her own 
room, and reappeared at luncheon, considerably refreshed 
by a good cry,” and a dose of sal volatile and red 
lavender. 


CHAPTEK XXXIX 


A REBUFF 

Men have no efficient substitute for either of the above 
restoratives. Instead of crying, they swear, instead of 
taking tonics, they consume tobacco, sometimes brandy- 
and-water, feeling the while what they themselves call “ a 
facer,” none the less that they affect to make light of, and 
carry it off with bravado. The Dandy’s heart was perhaps 
unwounded by Miss Tregunter’s refusal, hut his self-interest 
sustained a crushing blow, and harder yet to hear, his 
self-esteem was stricken to the dust. So he walked on 
aimlessly, through that wilderness which stretches its 
expanse in front of Knightsbridge Barracks, almost 
wishing that he was a jolly subaltern once more, with 
no heavier cares in life than the steadiness of his troop, 
the fit of his jack-boots, and the length of his charger’s 
tail. He reflected, as we all of us do now and then when 
things go wrong, how he had wasted time, and energy, and 
opportunities in the pursuit of — what? When he came 
to think about it, he could not say that he had been 
positively pursuing anything except discomfiture. And 
he had overtaken his quarry to-day, no doubt. He had 
been unscrupulous, perhaps, but still he owned a conscience, 
such as it was. Not good enough for happiness, not wicked 
enough for pleasure, he felt he had botched the whole 
business from beginning to end, and resolved henceforth to 

turn over a new leaf, and but what would the world 

say ? That he had been refused by Miss Tregunter, and 
was an altered man in consequence. Here he cursed an 
innocent little girl who crossed his path trundling her 

302 


A REBUFF 


303 


innocent little hoop ; and having thus relieved his temper, 
felt more like himself again. No ! The world {his world, a 
miserable little coterie of five hundred people) should not 
pity him. He would show them (and much they would 
care) that he rose the stronger for a fall, the bolder for 
defeat. Such a repulse as had just checked him could 
only be covered by an audacious attack, a startling victory ! 
Then he thought what a fool he had been thus to put 
himself in Miss Tregunter’s power. Could he depend 
upon her silence ? He believed not. At any rate it was 
against all his maxims to trust a woman to hold her 
tongue. She wasn’t half a bad girl after all ; beyond a 
feeling of soreness, he bore her no grudge for her refusal, 
though he pitied her bad taste ; hut to suppose that she 
would abstain from sticking into her cap such a feather 
as the conquest of Dandy Burton, was simply absurd. 
She would tell her intimate friends. Mrs. Vandeleur, of 
course. And now something really stung him to the quick, 
while he thought how soon this last piece of tomfoolery 
would come to the knowledge of the White Kose. She 
had been cooler than usual to him of late, she had even 
snubbed him very decidedly in public, and he fancied 
he could detect in her manner an impatience of his friendly 
professions, of the obligations under which he had placed 
her, and of the terms on which they stood. Women often 
married fellows, he argued, for no better reason than to get 
out of an anomalous position. There was nobody else in 
the field, that he knew of. Stay ! There was a mysterious 
rival somewhere, but the world could only shrug its hare 
worldly shoulders, and nod, and whisper, without being able 
to point out the man. “It was strange,” said the world 
behind its fan, “ that such a woman as that, so handsome, so 
high-spirited, so independent, should have no acknowledged 
lover in society ; less strange, perhaps, you will say, my 
dear, when I assure you that I know from the best authority 
she does disappear once or twice a week, and nobody can 
tell what becomes of her. She is always back to dinner, 
that I can prove, because mine is half-sister to dear Lady 
Tattle’s maid, who was with Mrs. Vandeleur all last season. 
Depend upon it there’s something queer about her. She 
don’t dye her hair, she wears her own teeth, and as for 


304 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Madame Kachel, I know it’s not that, because I — Well, 
never mind why, but I know it isn’t. Of course it’s very 
foolish, and the way to get herself talked about. Such a 
pity, dear, isn’t it ? ” 

All this, thought Burton, was so much in favour of any 
well-bred, well-known man, who should offer to make her 
his wife in a plain, sensible way, apart from everything 
like sentiment or romance. If her position was insecure, it 
would be fortified by a husband, and what a pleasant house 
might be kept, what charming little dinners might he given, 
by such a man as himself, for instance, and such a woman 
as the White Kose ! What an idiot he had been to make 
Jane Tregunter an offer, when, perhaps, he might marry 
Mrs. Vandeleur out-of-hand. By the time he reached 
Albert Gate he began to think he was very much in love 
with her. 

The Dandy’s, however, was no unreasoning or uncal- 
culating affection. He added to the lady’s personal charms 
many more lasting advantages, such as jointure, private 
fortune, position, and acquaintances. Ere he was well out 
of the Park, he said to himself, he had got a strong pull 
over her, and he would he an ass not to use it. While he 
turned the corner of the street she lived in, he resolved to 
run his chance then and there ; by the time he reached 
her door, he assured himself, though not very heartily, that 
the fight was as good as over, and he must gain the victory. 
She could not be out, for there was her brougham, with its 
handsome brown horse, in waiting, so he tore a leaf off his 
betting-book and sent up a line, as follows : — 

“ Dear Mrs. V., — May I see you for one moment — not 
on business ? Please say yes ! ” 

In two minutes he was following Robert Smart up the 
well-known stafrcase, feeling a little nervous, but pluming 
himself notwithstanding on his spirit of adventure in thus 
proposing to two women the same morning, before he sat 
down to luncheon. 

Ushered into the familiar drawing-room, he found Mrs. 
Vandeleur at the writing-tabl'e with her bonnet on, ready 
dressed to go out. She finished her note hastily, dashing 


A BE BUFF 


305 


off the signature with a scrawl, shook hands with him, and 
said, as composedly as if he had been her grandfather, — 

“ What can I do for you, Mr. Burton ? I am afraid 
luncheon is quite cold.” 

It was a bad beginning. His savoir fair e told him that 
for such a purpose as he had in view, the gentleman could 
not be too calm and collected, with plenty of leisure before 
him ; the lady, however flurried, should by no means be in 
haste. He knew he had better back out and put it off, but 
goaded by the reflection that his late defeat would become 
public property long before dinner-time, he advanced with 
the courage of despair. 

“ You can give me flve minutes,” he replied, “ I will try 
not to detain you longer.” 

‘‘ Speak up,” she answered, with a laugh, seating herself 
a long way off. 

He was standing on the hearth-rug, smoothing the glossy 
surface of his hat. Like every other man under similar 
circumstances, this employment afforded him a certain 
confidence. Deprived of the instrument, he would have 
been utterly and idiotically helpless. 

“Mrs. Vandeleur,” he began, “ I have had the pleasure 
of knowing you a long time. Our interests have lately 
become identical.” 

The proud look was gathering on her face, crossed with 
a shade of scorn. 

“ Mr. Burton,” she replied, “ I deny the position.” 

“ Well ! ” he retorted, a little nettled. “ The world, at 
least, is good enough to think so. I have proved my friend- 
ship — more, my devotion — in the only way the nineteenth 
century permits. Formerly a man got his head broken for 
the sake of the lady he admired. To-day he goes into the 
City and sees her lawyer for her. You have difficulties. 
Let them become mine. People talk about us. Give them 
a reason for talking. They have joined our names together. 
Let us join them ourselves for good and all.” 

No amount of anger or vexation could have been so dis- 
comfiting as the blank bewilderment on Mrs. Vandeleur’s 
haughty face. 

“ Mr. Burton ! ” said she. “ Are you in your senses ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” he replied, growing red with wrath. “ And 
20 


306 


THE WHITE ROSE 


if you were too, you could hardly hesitate in accepting an 
offer so obviously to your advantage.” 

She rose from her chair with the port of an Empress, 
and every syllable she uttered in her clear, cold voice, cut 
sharp and true, like a knife. 

“ Mr. Burton, I thank you for teaching me a lesson I 
ought perhaps to have learnt long ago. I now see that 
a woman in my position cannot have a man-iriend without 
subjecting herself to misconstruction and insult. Yes, 
insult ! for I consider your suggestion, made in such a 
way, neither more nor less. Not another day will I remain 
under the slightest obligation to you, — not an hour, if I 
can help it ! What you propose is impossible, and I regret 
it — you needn’t look pleased — I regret it for this reason, 
that, were it possible, I might better make you understand 
the scorn and loathing with which I reject your offer, and 
which I hope it is not unladylike in me to express. Wlien 
we meet in society, it will be as the merest acquaintance. 
You startled me at first, but I will not pay you the com- 
pliment of saying I am surprised. Good morning, Mr. 
Burton ; I need not detain you another moment.” 

Thus speaking, she swept out of the room with one of 
those bows, which, for courtesy of dismissal, is about 
equivalent to a slap in the face. 

He had caught an outward polish from the society in 
which he lived, and held the door open for her to pass, but 
he was not a gentleman all through, and cursed her bitterly 
as he stepped down-stairs, muttering between his teeth 
that “ he would be even with her before all was done ! ” 
He never knew exactly how he got into the street, but 
when there, observed the brougham had not left the door. 
A bright thought struck him, which was less, perhaps, an 
inspiration of the moment than the result of many previous 
suspicions brought to a head, as it were, by spite. Collecting 
all his energies, he resolved to act on it forthwith. 


CHAPTEK XL 

THE REASON WHY 

“ It’s to be war to the knife, is it?” said the Dandy to the 
nearest lamp-post. “All right ; I am agreeable, my lady, 
and I advise you to look out ! ” Then he thought of the 
one suspicion about Mrs. Vandeleur, the one speck that 
tarnished the petals of the White Kose. If he could make 
himself master of this secret, unmask the intrigue that he 
never doubted it involved, and identify the lover for whose 
sake she ran so great a risk, he would be able to dictate 
his own terms. After all, you see the Dandy was not the 
least a gentleman, in the real acceptation of the word, 
though he was received as such by society; but he had 
plenty of cunning, a fair share of tact, and many of the less 
estimable qualities which go to form a shrewd man of the 
world. “ Never make a rush at your adversary, after 
receiving a severe blow,” say the mentors of the prize- 
ring. “ Keep out of distance, shake your head a little, 
and collect yourself, before you go in again.” 

Dandy Burton, sore and quivering from the punishment 
he had sustained, acted on this wholesome advice, smoothed 
his ruffled feathers, and began to think. 

He looked at his watch ; it was but little after two o’clock. 
Mrs. Vandeleur must have ordered luncheon at least an 
hour sooner than usual. He knew the ways of the house 
and the habits of its mistress. He was aware she would 
not go shopping so early. There was a gi’eat breakfast to- 
day at the Cowslips, but he had heard her say she should 
send an excuse. All London would be there, and Mrs. 
Vandeleur seldom refused anything of Lady Syllabub’s. 

307 


308 


THE WHITE BOSE 


There must be some reason for this unusual seclusion. 
Perhaps it was her day for the mysterious expedition? — the 
day of all others she had better have kept friends with him. 
Now was the time to follow and find her out. 

Two doors off stood a four-wheeled cab, just dismissed. 
The driver having only received his proper fare, was 
crawling sulkily off at a walk. Burton hailed him, and 
jumped in. 

“Is your horse pretty fresh? ” said he, showing a half- 
crown in his fingers. 

Fresh ! Of course he was as fresh as paint. Who ever 
heard of a cab-horse being tired when the fare looked like 
a shilling a mile ? 

“ Then drive to the other end of the street,” continued 
the Dandy. “ Watch that brougham with a brown horse. 
He can trot, mind you, and you must put on the steam. 
Don’t lose sight of it for a moment. Follow within twenty 
yards wherever it goes.” 

Then he pulled both windows up, and waited — waited — 
patiently enough, with his eye on the dark-coloured 
brougham. 

What is it they do? Mrs. Vandeleur had been ready 
dressed from top to toe when he entered her house a 
quarter of an hour ago, yet it was at least another quarter 
of an hour before she emerged. The brown horse, however, 
made up for lost time, starting off, directly he heard the 
carriage door bang, at a good twelve miles an hour. Could 
she be going shopping after all ? The brougham was 
pulled up at a stupendous establishment for the promotion 
of feminine extravagance, and its occupant went in looking 
extremely like a purchaser ; but at the door she spoke to 
her footman, who touched his hat, mounted the box from 
which he had lately descended, and was driven slowly 
away. 

“Carriage ordered home,” thought Burton; “don’t 
want the servants to talk. Scent improves every yard. 
There’s no bolt-hole to this place, for I’ve been in it a 
hundred times. She must come out again the same way. 
Patience, my boy — we shall be even with her yet.” 

He had not long to wait. She soon reappeared with an 
extra veil on, and a small paper parcel in her hand. 


THE BEA80N WHY 


309 


Hailing a passing cab, and sadly soiling her dress against 
the wheel getting in, she was oif again; but he had no 
fear now of her escaping him. His driver, too, entered 
thoroughly into the spirit of the chase, well aware that 
such jobs as these afforded a lucrative day’s work. What 
a wearisome business it was, jingling at the rate of six 
miles an hour through those interminable streets that lead 
to the suburbs of London on the Kensington side. The 
Dandy hated discomfort, and no vehicle but a Wallachian 
waggon could have been less adapted to commodious transit 
than that in which he found himself. The seat was high 
and sloping; the roof jammed a new hat down on his 
eyebrows ; the cushions, of a faded plush, felt damp and 
slippery ; the windows rattled in their frames ; the whole 
interior smelt of mould, old clothes, and wet straw. He 
would have abandoned the pursuit more than once, but 
that the spirit of spite, vengeance, and wounded self-love, 
kept him up. 

As he rumbled on, his suspicions and anticipations of a 
crowning triumph increased more and more. The length 
of the journey, the distance from her own home — all these 
precautions argued something of a nature which the world 
would condemn as very disgraceful if found out. What a 
bright idea his had been thus to constitute himself a spy 
on her actions, and attain the power of showing her up ! 
He exulted, this man, in the probable degradation of the 
woman he had implored an hour ago to be his wife, and 
there was nobody to kick him — more’s the pity. 

The turns became shorter, the houses less imposing. 
Passing new streets and plots of ground “ To Let on 
Building Lease,” they soon reached real standard trees 
and leafy hedges. Burton’s driver was already revolving 
in his mind the remunerative nature of the job, calculating 
how high a sum he might venture to charge for “ back 
fare,” when the cab he followed stopped with a jerk at a 
green door, let into a garden wall surrounding a house of 
which the roof and chimneys could alone be seen from 
outside. 

Burton squeezed himself into a corner of his hiding- 
place, and watched Mrs. Vandeleur dismiss her cab. 
There seemed no hesitation about the fare, and she 


310 


THE WHITE BOSE 


tendered it with an air of decision that denoted she was 
here not for the first nor second time. The Dandy’s 
exultation was only damped by certain misgivings as to 
his own position if he ventured further, supposing there 
was a lover in the case, supposing that lover should be 
irascible, prone to personal collision and disposed to resent 
a liberty with blows. There was no time, however, for 
hesitation, and he possessed, at least, that mere physical 
indifference to a wrangle which depends chiefly on diges- 
tion. He was out of his cab the instant Mrs. Vandeleur 
passed through the green door. 

Either by accident or design she left it ajar, and he 
followed so close on her track as to catch a glimpse of her 
dress while she turned an angle of the shrubbery in which 
he found himself. It was one of those snug secluded 
retreats to he rented by scores within an hour’s drive of 
London in any direction, and which convey as perfect an 
idea of privacy and retirement as the most remote manor- 
house in Cumberland or Cornwall. Through a vista in 
the shrubbery, rich with its fragi’ance of lilacs and syringa, 
gleaming with Portugal laurels and gilded with drooping 
laburnums, the intruder caught a glimpse of a long low 
white building, surrounded by a verandah, defended with 
creepers, sun- shades, Venetian blinds, and other con- 
trivances of a stifling nature to keep out the heat. 

He followed up the chase by a winding path through the 
densest of this suburban thicket, to emerge on a trim, well- 
kept lawn, studded with a few stone vases, and over- 
shadowed by a gigantic elm, girdled with a circular wooden 
seat. 

Under the shade of this fine old tree, a garden-chair had 
been wheeled, but Mrs. Vandeleur’s undulating figure, as 
she crossed the lawn, hid its occupant from the spy’s 
observation, although for a moment he fancied he could 
detect the silvery hair of an old man’s head reclining 
against the cushions. 

He had no time, however, to speculate. The White 
Rose, who had ignored him patiently till he was too far 
advanced for retreat, turned fiercely on him now, and the 
Dandy never felt so small as while he stood there in the 
summer sunshine, thoroughly ashamed of himself, quiver- 


THE BEASON WHY 


311 


ing like a beaten hound, and shrinking from the insupport- 
able scorn of those merciless eyes. 

She spoke low, as people often do when they mean what 
they say, but her whole figure seemed to dilate and grow 
taller in its concentration of disgust and defiance ; nor will 
I take upon me to affirm that, through all Mr. Burton’s 
discomfiture, there did not lurk a faint glimmer of con- 
solation to think he had escaped such a Tartar for a 
wife. 

“ I congratulate you,” said she ; “I make you my com- 
pliments on the high chivalrous spirit you have displayed 
to-day, and your gentlemanlike conduct throughout. Do 
you think I am an idiot, Mr. Burton? Do you flatter 
yourself I have not seen through you ? I knew you were 
following me here from the moment I left ‘Barege and 
Tulle’s ’ in the cab ; I determined to give you a lesson, 
and now you have it ! This, sir, is the intrigue I carried 
on for years. Here is the lover I come to see. Ah ! look 
at him, and thank your stars that he is no longer the 
Vandeleur you remember in the pride and strength of 
manhood. (Hush ! hush ! hush !)” and she laid her hand 
caressingly on the brows of the feeble drivelling idiot, 
whose eye was beginning to brighten, and his pulses to 
stir with the only sensation he had left, that of jealousy at 
the presence of any one with his wife. Her glance was 
soft and tender while she soothed her husband, but it 
gleamed like steel when it turned again on the unhappy 
Dandy. “Yes,” she continued, “you may thank your 
stars, I say ; for, by Heaven ! if this was the man of a 
dozen years ago, he would have kicked you from here back 
to London, every step of the way ! Now go ! ” 

And Dandy Burton went sneaking through the shrubbery 
and the garden-door, like a detected pickpocket, glad to 
find the miserable cab that brought him still in waiting, 
thankful to hide his head in that mouldy refuge, rejoicing 
to hurry back and lose himself amongst a myriad of fellow- 
reptiles in town. 

But the day’s excitement and the day’s anxiety were not 
yet over for Mrs. Vandeleur. The ruling passion that had 
destroyed her husband’s intellect, already sapped by excess 
and self-indulgence, thus excited by the intruder’s presence, 


312 


THE WHITE ROSE 


blazed into the first lucid interval he had known since his 
fatal injuries. The poor idiot seemed to awake from some 
long, deep, dreamless slumber, and reason returned for the 
space of a few hours, during which he recognised Norah, 
conversed wuth her, and called her by name. She had 
nursed him, tended him, looked after him for years, yet 
never before, since his accident, had he even looked as if 
he knew she was there. But it was the parting gleam of 
sunset on a rainy evening, the flash of the candle expiring 
in its socket. 

By ten o’clock that night John Vandeleur was lying dead 
in the secluded retreat, which had been to him a living 
tomb from the day he was brought into it, crushed, 
mangled, and insane, after his ghastly leap into the 
court-yard of the Hotel at Heidelberg. 


CHAPTER XLI 


WITHOUT 

It was early spring in London, so early that the east winds 
had not thoroughly set in, and the mild genial weather 
gladdened the very vegetables in the areas, and the crossing- 
sweepers, who had plenty to do after the thaw, in the streets. 
It was to be an early season too, so people said ; and though 
squares and crescents had not yet put on their tender green 
dresses that wear so badly through summer dust and smoke 
— though asparagus had not appeared in the market, and 
lamb was still thirteen-pence a pound, — knockers began to 
thunder, carriages to roll, cards to pour in, and the business 
of life seemed about to commence, for young ladies of the 
upper class, from seventeen to seven-and-twenty, waking out 
of winter lethargy into the delightful hurry and excitement 
of the season. 

A good many people were already in town. Mrs. 
Vandeleur had left off her widow’s cap and reduced the 
depth of her crape borders. Dolly Egremont, after a gi’and 
quarrel with Miss Tregunter, who had spent several months 
in the South of France, and never shown since, was up to 
his ears in theatrical affairs. His correspondence with the 
American actress alone, who, always coming, had not yet 
arrived, would have kept one secretary in full employ- 
ment; and while he was good-humoured and friendly as 
ever, he looked (for him) harassed and worn with too much 
to do, something on his mind, and not a single moment to 
spare. 

Dandy Burton was going about as usual ; had left cards 
on the White Rose more than once — nay, had even shaken 

313 


314 


THE WHITE BOSE 


hands when he met her by accident in the street, though 
against her will. And Gerard Ainslie, with capital lodg- 
ings in Jermyn Street, was ordering carriages, buying 
hacks, giving dinner-parties, and making acquaintances 
with the greatest rapidity, for he had come into some six or 
seven thousand a year. 

Yes, the wheel had turned at last. His great-uncle was 
dead, not having thoroughly forgiven him, and, indeed, 
having made several wills, in which all he possessed was 
left away from his nearest relation. When an elderly 
gentleman marries his housekeeper, it is to be supposed 
that he takes so decided a step from personal knowledge of 
her character and long familiarity with her good qualities. 
He does not always find, however, that she makes him as 
good a wife as she did a servant, and disappointment under 
such circumstances at the failure of an article is generally 
proportioned to the price paid for it. In the present in- 
stance hatred and disgust soon replaced whatever sentiments 
of afi“ection or esteem had induced the old man to commit 
such an absurdity ; and nobody but his lawyer would have 
had patience with the childish irritation that caused him 
day after day to dictate and destroy different testamentary 
dispositions of his handsome property. At last, in a fit 
of unreasonable anger against his wife, he left everything 
to his great-nephew, and died the following morning in a 
fit of apoplexy. 

Gerard Ainslie now found himself extricated, if not from 
penury, at least fr’om very narrow circumstances, and raised 
to considerable wealth. The change arriving in the full 
flush and prime of manhood, was like a new life. A very 
young man coming into possession of a large fortune, hardly 
appreciates either the advantages he has gained, or the in- 
conveniences from which he has escaped. Later, when the 
bloom is off the flower once for all, nothing can excite him 
to great exultation, and he has probably learned the inevit- 
able lesson of experience, that happiness, never found when 
sought, is independent of externals, and springs exclusively 
from within. But for one who has been through the priva- 
tions and annoyances of poverty while at an age to feel 
their edge most keenly, to emerge from them at a time of 
life when hope has not yet sunk below the horizon, when 


WITHOUT 


815 


the sap is still rising in the tree, such a transformation of 
self and surroundings is light after darkness, winter after 
summer, health after sickness, freedom after captivity, 
pleasure after pain. 

No man in London was better qualified than Gerard Ainslie 
to appreciate such an alteration in his fortunes. Brought up 
with the taste and habits of an English gentleman, he united 
the love of luxury and refinement with the delight in rough 
athletic exercises peculiar to his class. This combination can 
hardly be considered economical ; and a man who wants to 
tire three horses in a day, risking neck and limbs over High 
Leicestershire, ere he returns to a dinner-party, music, and 
the society of half-a-dozen charming women at night, 
should have a purse as deep as his desire for pleasure is 
inexhaustible, should he placed by Fortune in a position 
that admits of his wasting time, energy, health, and capital 
in the pursuit of mere amusement. Gerard, as we know, 
had been what is called a “good fellow” all his life. A 
hon camarade at the diggings, a jovial companion at a mess- 
table or in a club, with men he was sure to be popular, 
from his frank, pleasant temper, his high spirit, and some- 
thing womanly at his heart. The ladies had made a 
favourite of him from boyhood. To their deeper percep- 
tions there had always been something, fascinating about 
his eyes and smile. They liked him none the worse now 
that his whiskers were grown, and he had the reputation of 
being a traveller, an adventurer, a “ man with a history,” 
above all a capital parti. 

So, in a few weeks, he was asked to a great variety of 
places, saddled with a vast number of engagements, any of 
which (and this made him none the less popular) he was 
ready to throw over at a moment’s notice, and altogether 
launched on the world of London with a fair wind and a 
flowing tide. 

We all know the story of the princess and her rumpled 
rose-leaf felt through half a score of blankets. Gerard 
also had a leaf or two that worried him in the bed of roses 
to which he had lately climbed. In the first place, his play 
had not yet been acted, although, as maybe easily imagined, 
his accession to wealth had in no way detracted from the 
merits of a piece which Dolly’s friendship had accepted 


316 


THE WHITE ROSE 


when the author was poor. Still he was eager to behold it 
on the stage ; and in the short period during which neces- 
sity compelled him to wield the pen, he had contracted a 
jealous anxiety for publicity, an insatiable desire for fame, 
such as poisons the content of most inexperienced authors, 
dramatic and otherwise. 

“ Pope Clement, or the Cardinal’s Collapse ” had not 
yet been put in rehearsal. Everything depended on the 
American actress, and the American actress depended on 
a New York public and the Sou’-westers of the Atlantic. 
Till she arrived he could not answer the questions 
showered on him by every acquaintance in the street, 
“When is your play coming out?’’ — this was rose-leaf 
number one. 

Kose-leaf number two gave him a good deal more un- 
easiness. He was in a continual fidget about Mrs. 
Vandeleur. The notice of her husband’s death in the 
Times did not, indeed, surprise him as much as the rest of 
the London world, who had chosen to consider her a widow 
for some years, hut it had opened up a range of speculation 
that all the duties and pleasures of his new position seemed 
unable to drive out of his head. She had hut lately 
returned to town, he knew that, for in the set amongst 
whom he now lived it was no longer necessary to tamper 
with servants for information of her movements. She had 
been down to Oakover. He wondered whether she visited 
her father’s parsonage, the road across the marshes, the old 
haunts that were in his memory still like “ holy ground,” 
and whether she thought of him ? He could bear it no 
longer ; see her he must, and all unconscious of the genial 
spring weather, he started nervously on foot for her resi- 
dence, dreading mainly his recognition by Kobert Smart, 
and the contingency of her not being at home. 

In spite of his agitation, he could not forbear smiling as 
he walked along, and remembered how different had been 
his passage through the streets of London a few short 
months ago, when every day’s dinner was uncertain, and he 
could not even afford decent clothes to his back. Now the 
very crossing-sweepers, who tripped him up, called him 
“my lord.” Hansom cab-drivers, eyeing him respectfully 
from their perches, shot imploring glances to take him in. 


WITHOUT 


817 


Taper fingers were kissed and pretty heads bowed at him 
from well-appointed carriages, while dandies, for whom 
nothing on earth seemed good enough, stopped to clap him 
familiarly on the shoulder and take him by the hand. 

It was pleasant, it was exhilarating ; but he had been a 
gold-digger ; he had been a settler ; he had served one 
voyage, when at his worst, before the mast, — and it did not 
turn his head the least. Jack, who shared his last quid 
with him that night in the whaleboat, was perhaps quite as 
good a fellow as Lord Frederick ; Tom, who nursed him 
through low fever in the swamps, had a pleasanter way with 
him than Sir Harry, and looked indeed a good deal more 
like a gentleman. Nay, something happened at Hyde Park 
Corner that could scarcely have taken place in San Francisco 
or Ballarat. 

Two remarkably well-dressed young men, walking arm- 
in-arm, stopped short ten paces off, and crossed Piccadilly at 
the muddiest part, as if to avoid a meeting. He recognised 
them both. One, indeed, had the grace to blush deeply 
while he picked his way through the dirt, and his letter 
Gerard could feel at that moment in his own breast-pocket, 
requesting the loan of a large sum of money ; but the other 
only laughed, and with reason, for he had borrowed a 
couple of hundred the week before from the man he 
seemed so anxious to avoid, and the joke was probably 
enhanced by the small probability of his ever being able 
to pay ! 

Gerard felt so hurt, the tears almost rose to his eyes. 

Hang it ! ” he muttered, I can’t be such a bad fellow 
as they take me for ; and I thought they were -friends — 
real friends I could depend upon. I’ve met some staunch 
ones in my life, but I wonder how many I!ve got left ! ” 

It set him thinking ; the behaviour of these young gentle- 
men puzzled him. He did not see that they were merely 
acting up to a wholesome rule for the enjoyment of life, 
which forbids people, under any circumstances, to run the 
slightest risk of being bored. They felt, doubtless with 
some tact, that there would be a certain amount of gene 
about a meeting, till the one’s loan and the other’s letter 
had been forgotten. So, they simply avoided it. Perhaps 
they were right; but Gerard had worn a red shirt and 


318 


TEE WHITE BOSE 


carried a pick-axe too lately to see the matter in that light, 
and he turned down Grosvenor Place, reflecting with some 
bitterness that there was hut one good fellow in the whole 
of London, and his name was Dolly Egremont. 

A block of carriages in Halkin Street, checking the stream 
of foot-passengers, brought him on to that gentleman’s very 
shoulders. The two naturally hooked arms, and walked 
forward together. 

Gerard’s heart was full. He pressed his friend’s elbow 
to his side. 

“ Old fellow,” said he, “don’t think me a beast ! I’m 
not really ungrateful. I’ve never half thanked you for the 
hand you gave me when I was so deep in the hole — I’ve 
never had a chance.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” answered Dolly, with an Englishman’s 
insurmountable repugnance to all expression of sentiment, 
“ you would have done just the same for me ! But it’s all 
right now, isn’t it? ” 

“ Right ! ” replied the other. “ I’m in clover, my dear 
fellow, I positively roll in riches. Look here, I never can 
repay your kindness and consideration ; but with regard to 
the money, that kept me from starving, you know. By 
Jove — literally from starving ! It’s nothing to me now, 
but it was everything then, and altogether it amounts to 
a goodish sum, and it must have inconvenienced you with 
that theatre on your hands, and — in short ” 

Gerard was getting confused, and could not put into 
proper language what he wanted to say. His friend turned 
round on him and stood still. 

“ I’ve never told you,” said he — “ I never knew whether 
I might — Jerry, you ought to know — the money didn’t 
come from me ; at least, very little of it ; there was another 
party in the case, a party you’d hardly guess, who ‘ parted ’ 
freely, like a brick ! ” 

“ Not Burton ! ” exclaimed Gerard, in an accent of con- 
siderable alarm. 

“ No, not Burton ! ” repeated the other. “ Quite the 
reverse I may say. What do you think of the White Rose, 
my boy ? It was, I give you my honour ! Every shilling 
I forwarded you in those three different drafts came from 
Mrs. Vandeleur.” 


WITHOUT 


819 


Gerard Ainslie started as if he had been shot. “ Mrs. 
Vandeleur ! ” was all he could gasp. “ I was going to call 
there now.” 

“ You’ll find her at home,” answered the other, looking 
at his watch. “ She never drives till four o’clock. Good- 
bye, Jerry, it’s time I was at the Accordion.” 

And Dolly, hailing a passing hansom, was carried off 
forthwith, leaving his friend at Mrs. Vandeleur ’s door, in a 
whirl of conflicting feelings, amongst which a sense of un- 
speakable happiness predominated. If nervous before, 
judge what he was now. He never knew how he rang the 
bell, who opened the door, by what process he got up-stairs, 
or whether he entered Mrs. Vandeleur’ s drawing-room on 
his head or his heels ! 


CHAPTER XLH 

WITHIN 

She had been thinking of him all the morning. Sitting 
with her feet on the fender, and her work in her lap, she 
was thinking of him even then. She had come to London 
earlier than she intended, earlier, indeed, than Lady Baker 
and other counsellors, strict guardians of the convenances, 
had advised, in the hope that on that restless, shifting, 
ever-varying sea, they might, after all those years of separa- 
tion, be drifted together once more. 

The night her husband died had afforded Norah one of 
those glimpses into reality that sometimes reveal to us the 
misapprehensions and misconceptions under which we too 
often shape our conduct. It was the sudden clearing off, 
so to speak, of a fog in which she had been wandering with 
false impressions of latitude, longitude, locality, and general 
bearings. 

Roused to a temporary consciousness by Burton’s un- 
justifiable intrusion, Vandeleur had taken advantage of his 
restored faculties to make his wife the only amends left 
before re- action came on and the lamp of life was extin- 
guished for ever. Holding her hand, looking into her face, 
with the bright, still cunning eyes, that never formerly, 
even in his best days, could thus meet her own, he con- 
fessed the treachery he had practised towards herself and 
the inexperienced boy, whom he knew she had loved from 
the first. He detailed, with something of the old graceful 
flattery, so touching in this helpless, dying invalid, the 
effect of her charms on his worn, world-wearied heart. He 
had loved her in his selfish way as well, he told her, as it 

320 


WITHIN 


321 


was in his nature to love anything but his own desires, and 
this very affection had wrought out his punishment. He 
saw it all now, hut too late. Of course, too late ! Every 
fool could tell how the game should have been played after 
the tricks were turned. He knew he had no chance so long 
as Gerard Ainslie remained his rival ; and was he, the 
finished practised rouey to be beaten in a race for such a 
prize by a raw lad of nineteen ? Not if he knew it. All 
was fair in love and war. Norah remembered Fanny 
Draper, didn’t she? Pretty, good-for-nothing, black-eyed 
girl at the mill ? Well, he had bribed Miss Fanny to make 
up to the young gentleman on her own account, to follow 
him about, report his actions, intercept his correspondence, 
marry him herself if she could ! And the jade had earned 
her money fairly enough. Fairly enough he must admit. 
What an intriguing, unscrupulous little devil it was ! The 
old sinner chuckled and gasped, and grew so weak at this 
stage of his narrative, that Norah, propping him on his 
pillows, thought it was all over, and she would hear no 
more. 

But he recovered to bid her mark that he was going fast, 
and she would soon find he had at least thought of her 
welfare at the very time he felt most unhappy that he could 
not win her entire affections. There had been a handsome 
provision made for her in case of his insanity. He was 
mad from the first he said ; he always knew it ! At his 
death she would succeed to Oakover and everything he had 
to leave. It was a dull place, Oakover, in a dull country ! 
A fellow had better be dead and buried at once than obliged 
to live in such a hole as that, but he wouldn’t have her cut 
the Avenue. No, it would make the place look like a 
private mad-house to cut the Avenue. He should know 
what a private mad-house was if anybody did. There had 
been a clause in his will by which she was to forfeit the 
estate if she married again. But he had made that all 
right. When did she think ? Why, just before they went 
abroad, when he began to feel she could never care for him 
as he wished. Oh, he had fought fair ! At least he had 
done nothing beyond the rules of the game. He could not 
bring himself to wish even now that he had let Gerard alone, 
and withdrawn from the contest. He had never been beat^ 

2X 


322 


THE WHITE BOSE 


never, till forced to yield under this accursed family affliction 
that had beaten the best of the Vandeleurs for many genera- 
tions. Well, Norah was always a good kind-hearted girl ; 
she would forgive him, perhaps, after he was gone. The 
mischief wasn’t irremediable, when you came to think of it. 
Why, Fanny Draper might die, or be divorced more likely 
— that vixen never could keep steady, not if she married a 
duke ! And then, when Norah was settled at Oakover with 
Gerard, she would think kindly of old John Vandeleur. She 
wouldn’t turn his picture to the wall, would she ? And she 
had better let the Avenue alone. He was getting tired now, 
and he thought he should like to go to sleep a little. 

It is needless to say there were doctors in plenty round 
Vandeleur’s death-bed. They shook their heads as they 
marked his faint breathing and the waxen placidity into 
which his features were subsiding, handsome even yet in 
the dignity of approaching immortality. But one of these 
wise men whispered that a crisis had arrived, and it was 
the last chance for life. Norah, only now awakening to the 
perfidy of which she had been a victim, only now realising 
the liberty that dawned on her, the possibility of happiness 
that might still fall to her lot, hated herself for the guilty 
start of apprehension with which she heard there was yet 
this vague hope of a reprieve. Then she went and prayed 
on her knees that the black drop might be wrung out of her 
heart, returning to her husband’s bed-side with an honest 
wish for his recovery, and tending him once more with all 
the gentle care she had bestowed during his long-protracted 
illness. But he never knew her again. Towards midnight 
he breathed harder, muttering his first wife’s name. She 
heard him distinctly ask for “ Margaret ” more than once 
ere he relapsed into a tranquil sleep, from which he passed 
calmly and insensibly through the gates of death. All this 
came back to her now, sitting in her solitary drawing-room 
with eyes fixed on the fire. All this, and a good deal more. 
It was well, no doubt, to be handsome, rich, free, unin- 
cumbered ; above all, it was well to have been able, at 
a moment’s notice and without personal inconvenience, to 
cancel her obligations to Mr. Burton ; but the White Bose 
felt, nevertheless, very much as Burns’s Scottish maiden in 
the difficulty of choice which ladies of all ranks have to 


WITHIN 


823 


encounter. Many an aching heart under satin corset, as 
under serge bodice, has echoed the burden of her hitter 
plaint, — 

“ What care I in riches to wallow, 

If I may not marry Tam Glen ! ” 

Mrs. Yandeleur could appreciate the advantages of her 
position, for she was a lady of refinement and education, 
but she was also a true-hearted woman, and would rather 
have worked for her daily bread in a two-pair-hack with 
Gerard Ainslie, than lived, as she did now, in one of the 
prettiest houses in London without him. 

She had heard of his accession to fortune, and rejoiced in 
it, she firmly believed, with all her heart and soul. In this 
notion she egregiously deceived herself. My own con- 
viction is, that she would have been much better pleased to 
have found him without a penny, and to have had the 
delight of lavishing on him, from her own stores, every- 
thing he most wished for in the world. Besides, there was 
one startling consideration. As little prone to jealousy as 
it is possible for a woman to be, the White Rose was yet 
not wholly invulnerable to that uncomfortable sentiment. 
She speculated, reasonably enough, on the unlikelihood 
that such a man as she esteemed her former lover should 
pass scatheless through the fascinating ranks of her own 
sex, when, in addition to his natural advantages, he came to 
possess the adventitious aids of wealth and position. Some- 
body would be sure to make love to him ; she could think 
of a dozen on the instant. It was impossible but that 
he would respond. “ And how can I help it ? ” murmured 
Mrs. Vandeleur, pushing her chair back from the glowing 
fire which had scorched her face and eyes to some purpose. 
‘‘ What can I do if we never meet? I can’t go and call 
upon him, and I do believe he has quite forgotten every- 
thing, for he has never been to call upon me ! ” 

The words, half-spoken, had risen to her lips, when the 
door was thrown open, and Robert Smart announced a 
visitor, without the slightest emotion, as “ Mr. Ainslie ! ” 
On the stage, at such a crisis, ladies have the unspeakable 
advantages of fainting dead away “ opposite prompter ” into 
the very arms of the favoured lover, to be brought to again 
when the fiddle has played the first eight bars, and they 


324 


THE WHITE ROSE 


have gained a few moments to recollect their cue and think 
of what they ought to say next. But in real life, unexpected 
emotion only makes people look foolish instead of interesting. 
And if the well-drilled servant had remained another second 
in the drawing-room, which he did not, he would have con- 
sidered his mistress a fitting inmate of that “ Asylum for 
Females of Weak Intellect ” which he so often passed with 
the carriage on its way to Kew Gardens, and her visitor, 
whom he did not think it his business to recognise, an 
escaped lunatic fresh from the incurable ward at St. 
Bethlehem’s. 

Both stood for a moment trembling, stupefied, open- 
mouthed ; then they shook hands, muttering something 
about “ such a long time,” and “ didn’t know you were in 
town.” After which, a blank, alarming pause, and Gerard 
was glad to sit down in the nearest chair, clinging instinc- 
tively to his hat as the drowning man holds on to a lifebuoy. 

With a woman’s inborn tact, she would have given him 
time to recover, feeling herself the necessity of a moment’s 
breathing-space ; but he w^as too far gone to take advantage 
of such forbearance, and plunged headlong into conversation. 
He had not spoken with her since they parted, avowed 
lovers, all those years ago. Looking on her face again — or 
rather at the hem of her garment, for he scarce could trust 
himself to meet her eyes, not knowing they were studying 
the pattern of the hearth-rug — he felt in every fibre of his 
being that the present moment was worth all the sorrow 
and anxiety of a lifetime ; that she was dearer to him, if 
possible, than ever ; and this was the original remark he 
chose to make : “ What a lovely day, Mrs.Vandeleur ! So 
pleasant after our long frost.” She took a good look at 
him now. He was very much what she expected ; a little 
browner, perhaps, and broader-shouldered, but the eyes and 
smile Vv^ere Gerard’s. In a moment, too, something of 
manner, gesture, perhaps the tremble in his voice, told her 
w^oman’s instinct that he was her Gerard still. She 
gained confidence rapidly, and answered with commendable 
steadiness, “ The old story in our English climate, Mr. 
Ainslie — no two days alike. Unchanged even in its 
changes. You — you won’t find anything much changed 
since you went away.” She was not ; he could tell that 


WITHIN 


325 


now when he found courage to look in her winsome face. 
The witch was as bewitching as ever; a little paler, he 
thought, than the girl he had seen every night hy those 
watch-fires in his dreams ; darker of hair, perhaps ; fuller in 
form ; the features even more delicately cut than Miss 
Welby’s ; but with the old queenly air, the well-remembered 
grace of gesture ; above all the tender, fleeting smile that 
lingered less about her mouth than in those deep, dreamy, 
loving eyes. He had thought her more changed that night 
in the summer, when he caught a glimpse of her getting into 
her carriage after the ball. She saw right through his 
heart, no doubt, as women can, without looking at him, 
and flushed with a pleasure not devoid of triumph. It was 
something, after all, to have reigned thus without a rival, 
against hope itself. She talked on about all sorts of in- 
different subjects, — her house, her furniture, her engage- 
ments, the last French play, the first Italian Opera, — and 
Gerard, smoothing his hat vehemently (for all his wander- 
ings had not eradicated this instinct of civilised life) , began 
to feel more collected and rational, less as if he was swim- 
ming aimlessly to and fi’o some five fathom under water with- 
out a hope of coming to the surface. 

Presently he abandoned his hat, and edged his chair a little 
nearer the White Kose. Do you know what brought me 
here to-day? ” he asked, rather abruptly. 

“ Because you never came near me when I was in town 
last year,” she answered, with a bright, mischievous smile, 
that took him back like magic to the lawn and the cedars 
at Marston Kectory. “ I know more about you than you 
think. Why, I knew you were back before you had been a 
month in England.” 

She stopped short and turned crimson, wishing she had 
not said so much. 

“ I only heard to-day of all your generosity,” he con- 
tinued, eagerly. “ Don’t think me ungrateful ; don’t think 
me unfeeling. I’ve never thanked you ; I’ve never written 
to you. How could I last summer ? What excuse had I 
for coming near you ? And yet I saw you once. I watched 
for you leaving a hall. I waited all night, and you came 
out at last. You dropped a flower. Mrs. Vandeleur, I 
have got it still ! ” 


326 


THE WHITE BOSE 


She had taken a screen from the chimney-piece ; that 
fire scorched her cheeks so fiercely ! Her face was hid, and 
she answered not a word ; but he could see the handle 
shaking in her grasp, and it gave him courage to go 
on. 

“ I know ever3dhing now,” he continued, “ and you shall 
know everything too. I loved you, Mrs. Vandeleur, as 
you cannot have forgotten, when I was a raw, headstrong 
boy. I love you still (I may say so now you are free), being 
a worn and somewhat disheartened man. People will tell 
you such things are a romance, an impossibility. Mrs. 
Vandeleur, do you believe in them ? ” 

He wanted to fix her. It was not so easy. She kept the 
screen to her face and murmured, “ You have had plenty 
of time to forget me.” 

“ But I couldn’t forget you ! ” he exclaimed. “ I never 
shall now. It is no use talking or thinking of what might 
have been. I loved you at nineteen, and I have loved you 
my whole life. You only liked me, and — and — is it not 
the truth, Mrs. Vandeleur? — when somebody else came 
and asked you, I — I was discarded and put aside ! ” 

She dropped the screen at last. She rose to her feet. 

She turned on him those wondrous eyes, and in their 
depths he read regret, reproach, forgiveness, and unalter- 
able affection. 

Gerard ! ” was all she could find voice to say, but the 
tone was enough. It brought him to her side ; his arm 
stole round her waist ; her head rested on his shoulder ; , 

and so, with loving words and happy tears, the whole tale 
of perfidy, sorrow, estrangement, and eventual sacrifice, 
came to an end. 

“And there is nothing between us now,” she said, 
glancing at her own black garments, and wondering in her 
heart whether it was very wicked to feel so thankful she \ 
had become a widow. ; 

“Nothing ! ’’repeated Gerard, thinking only of Vandeleur’s ^ 
fate, and grimly deciding that, all things considered, it \ 
served him right. 

“Except,” continued Norah, and hesitated. She was ] 
going to add, “ Except your own wife,” but forbore to j 
mention that tie, partly from motives of delicacy, remem- 3 


WlTHin 


327 


bering to have heard of Mrs. Ainslie’s elopement with a 
Frenchman; and partly because of a report which had 
reached her long ago, and to which she had given too 
ready credence, of that lady’s death. 

He observed her hesitation, and though he thought little 
of it at the time, remembered it afterwards. 

It was strange that, during the whole of this interview, 
the idea of Fanny’s existence should not once have crossed 
her husband’s mind. He had, indeed, for years tacitly 
admitted the probability of her decease, and was more 
persuaded than ever that he was a widower, since she had 
not applied to him for assistance on his accession to wealth ; 
but it was, nevertheless, somewhat rash to accept for a 
certainty the freedom that rested on such a problematical 
assumption as a wife’s death, simply because she had 
given no notice she was alive. Gerard would doubtless 
have taken a more practical view of his own position, but 
that this long-lost happiness found again, this realisation of 
the dream which had for years been cherished but as a 
dream, was too much for his philosophy, and any little 
remnants of common sense that might have helped him, 
were completely scattered by the prospect of claiming the 
White Kose at last for his own, to wear her proudly and 
thankfully next his heart for life. 

Time passes quickly in such interviews. He had been 
there more than an hour, and neither of them thought ten 
minutes had elapsed since his arrival. He would have 
stayed as long again, in all probability, but for a peal at 
the door-bell, announcing more visitors. Norah started, 
and stretched out her hand to wish him good-bye. When 
their hearts are gone, people generally lose their heads. 
With a hurried promise to meet again on the morrow, with 
a whispered blessing, and one long, clinging, passionate 
kiss, Gerard was down-stairs and in the hall as soon as the 
servant whose duty it was to answer the door. 

On the steps stood a gentleman with a card-case in his 
hand. It was none other than Dandy Burton, who still 
entertained an ardent desire, founded chiefly on pique, to 
re-establish his former footing of friendship with Mrs. 
Vandeleur. He had not been aware till to-day that her 
servants were forbidden to admit him. He learned it now. 


328 


THE WHITE BOSE 


when, meeting a visitor face to face coming out, he was told 
by the footman Mrs. Vandeleur was “ not at home.” 

The Dandy groaned a curse, deep, bitter, and unfor- 
giving, between his teeth, but accosted Gerard with perfect 
good-humour and cordiality, like a man of the world, as he 
was. The former fellow-pupils had already met more than 
once since Ainslie’s accession to fortune, but though their 
acquaintance was renewed, all its boyish frankness and 
mutual goodwill had died out. They did not like each 
other now, had scarcely an idea, certainly not a sentiment 
in common. Consequently, their “Good-bye” was more 
hearty than their “How-d’ye-do.” To-day they walked 
arm-in-arm from Mrs. Vandeleur ’s door to the end of the 
street, and there parted with exceeding good-will. Both 
had much to occupy their thoughts. The Dandy, who 
could not fail to notice his companion’s glistening eye, 
buoyant step, and general air of blissful preoccupation, 
began to suspect how the land lay, and resolved forthwith 
to lose no time in shaping a spoke that should fit their 
wheel to a nicety ! While Gerard, in all the engrossing 
ecstasies of a man who has just realised his ideas of Para- 
dise, wanted no society but his own, certainly was least of 
all disposed for that of one against whom his instincts 
warned him as an obstacle in his path. 

Something told him that even if he wanted the power, 
the Dandy had all the will to become his rival. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


“ LOST, STOLEN, OR STRAYED 

Most of us have some friend in the world on whom we think 
we are justified in inflicting our grievances, confidences, 
sorrows, and chiefly our scrapes. Out of the latter we 
expect him to pull us, though he should go in up to his 
neck on our behalf ; and we generally favour him with a 
good deal of bad temper on our own account, and personal 
abuse, which we call “ plain-speaking,” if he venture to 
differ with us in opinion on the very subjects for which we 
demand his advice. 

Such a friend was Dolly Egremont to many of his own 
intimates. To none more than Gerard Ainslie. The latter 
had not proceeded one hundred yards in the direction 
of Grosvenor Place ere conviction came full upon him, 
that Dolly, and nobody but Dolly, must be collared and 
consulted forthwith. 

I have said that the idea of Mrs. Ainslie’s existence had 
in no wise tempered the first glow of happiness kindled by 
Gerard’s interview with his old love, but such an immunity 
could not last long after the glamour of the White Rose’s 
presence had passed away. 

In the very middle of the first crossing he traversed, it 
came upon him like a flash, that unless he could positively 
certify Fanny’s death ; could go wooing, so to speak, with 
the very proofs in his hand, he was not only committing a 
crying sin by the woman he married, but — and in his eyes 
this was perhaps even a more serious consideration — 
inflicting a deadly injury on the woman he loved. Of 
course, she must be dead ! He always reverted to that, 

329 


330 


THE WHITE BOSE 


I fear, with but little feeling of compunction or remorse, 
cherishing, like men in general, a persuasion that on them 
has been laid the whole weight of an unhappy marriage, 
that they alone are the sufferers, and that, although she 
never asked them, although they themselves must have 
taken the initiative, and at some stage of the proceedings 
must have walked into the pit with their eyes open, the 
whole business is solely the woman’s fault ! 

Gerard, then, felt chiefly anxious to prove the death of 
one whom heretofore he had so ill-advisedly vowed to love 
and to cherish. 

It would be difficult, of course, to obtain information at 
such a distance of time, exceedingly inconvenient to insti- 
tute inquiries which must be pursued abroad no less than 
at home. Even at so late a stage of the proceedings, every 
day that could be gained was in his favour. Dolly must 
be consulted forthwith. In a quarter of an hour Gerard 
was threading his way through the narrow streets about 
Leicester Square in search of the Accordion. 

To find a theatre by daylight is almost as difficult as to 
follow a bridle-road in the dark. Gerard foolishly aban- 
doned his cab, and was soon lost in a labyrinth of lanes 
and alleys, in which the staple commodities seemed to he 
gin, oysters, stale vegetables, penny baUads, second-hand 
furniture, and old clothes. Steadily pursuing his researches, 
I think he must have failed at last, but that he came into 
unexpected collision with Mr. Barrington-Belgrave, who 
bounced out of a dirty door-way in a dead wall covered 
with hanging strips of tattered red-letter advertisements. 

That gentleman’s greeting was cold and haughty. Mr. 
Belgrave felt aggrieved that he should have seen less of the 
man whom he had befriended in distress since ‘‘ Fortune,” 
as he beautifully expressed it, “ had showered her sunniest 
smiles upon her minion.” The actor lifted his hat with 
stately politeness, and would have passed on, but that 
Gerard caught his hand, and held him by main force. 

“ You ought to know,” said he, “ if anybody does. I 
want to find the Accordion Theatre.” 

His manner was frank as usual. Mr. Belgrave, how- 
ever, totally unmollified, replied with freezing dignity, “I 
certainly am not likely to forget the workshop where I make 


LOST, STOLEN, OB STRAYED 


331 


my daily bread. With some persons, nevertheless, memory 
on such matters is not to be trusted. Step in there, Mr. 
Ainslie. I wish you good-morning, sir.” 

So Ainslie stepped in, a little surprised at the dignity of 
his former friend, but attributing it in his ignorance to some 
part he was fresh from studying, and of which he could not 
at once shake off the tragic deportment and majestic air 
required. 

He found himself in a dark passage, apparently leading 
nowhere ; but hearing Dolly’s voice, made for the sound. 
Opening a door by groping till he found its handle, he 
entered a small uncomfortable room, with no carpet, fitted 
up like an office, save for a few such incongruous articles 
as buff-boots, stage jewellery, false hair, rouge-pots, and 
sham swords. Here he discovered Dolly and Mr. Bowles, 
with a cheque-book before them, and an expression on the 
countenance of either that denoted a summing-up of 
accounts in which expenditure had exceeded income. 

What, Grerard! ” exclaimed Dolly, in as hearty a voice 
as ever, but looking more anxious than usual. “ How did 
you find your way here ? Not come about the play, have 
you?” 

Gerard answered in the negative, and thought he de- 
tected a glance of congratulation exchanged by the two 
managers. 

‘‘Play!” said he, “hang the play I I’d forgotten all 
about it. I’ve got something of much more importance 
to talk to you about. We’ll go back together, Dolly. If 
I’m not in the way I’ll wait here till you are ready.’' 

“ I’m ready now,” answered his friend, shuffling a lot of 
papers together and cramming them into a drawer. After 
a whispered dialogue with Mr. Bowles, in which were to be 
distinguished such words as “ exorbitant terms,” “ impatient 
public,” “novelty,” “attraction,” and “New York,” he 
took Gerard’s arm, and sallied forth into the street. 

“The fact is,” said Dolly confidentially, and in accents 
of relief as they heard the stage-door of the Accordion 
clang to behind them, “we’ve got a speculation on hand 
now that will either be the best hit a manager ever made, 
or shut up our shop altogether. The consequence is I am 
never out of the theatre. To-morrow’s a clear day, but it’s 


332 


THE WHITE ROSE 


the first I’ve had for a month. To me, indeed, my dear 
Jerry, I do assure you * all the world’s a stage, and all the 
men and women d— d bad players ! ’ I never was so 
harassed in my life. Now we’ve got this American star 
coming over — this Madame Molinara — and she’s to make 
all our fortunes. Such a beauty, they say; such an actress, 
and such a Tartar to deal with. If she don’t draw twice 
as many people as the house will hold every night, we 
shan’t pay our expenses, — I can see that already. Every- 
thing is to be found her, my boy ; and her dressmaker’s 
bill would swamp a life-boat. I was running up a few 
items just now when you came in, ‘ and I would that my 
tongue could utter the oaths that arose in me.’ I’ve 
agreed, too, Jerry, that’s the worst of it. Given in to all 
her terms, and I dare not even think of them. Well, ‘ the 
stately ships go down,’ you know, and perhaps hers may. 
I’m almost beast enough to wish she was at the bottom of 
the Atlantic, upon my soul ! ” 

I wish with all my heart she was ! ” answered Gerard 
laughing. I want to talk to you about something else. 
I want you to help me. Dolly, you must stand by me like 
a brick. I’m going to be the happiest fellow in England.” 

Honest Dolly’s face brightened at once. Whatever 
sorrows this gentleman cherished of his own, it was in his 
nature to put them aside when he could serve a friend, and 
of him La Eochefoucauld’s aphorism was not true, “ that 
there is something gratifying to every one in the misfortunes 
of his neighbours.” 

“I’m your man,” said he. “Wicket-keeper, cover- 
point, slip, or long-stop, — ^you bowl the twisters. I’ll do the 
fielding for you. Hang it, Jerry, when you and I get 
together, I feel as if we were boys again. I sometimes 
wish we were,” he added, rather wistfully. 

I believe that with old schoolfellows, even men of sixty 
go back into boyhood, and are capable, at least in fancy, of 
“ knuckling down ” at marbles, “ bolstering ” in bed-rooms, 
robbing apple-trees, cribbing verses, and taking floggings 
with the fortitude of boyish bravado. Gerard Ainslie, 
bronzed and bearded, here in the streets of London, 
answered as he might have done when a smooth-faced boy 
in Mr. Archer’s pupil-room. 


^LOST, STOLEN, OB STBAYED 


333 


“ Don’t jaw, Dolly. Hold on, and listen to me. You 
never were a sneak. You and I always went partners in 
everything, and have not failed each other yet. Will you 
see me through the great ‘ go-in ’ of my life, now ? ” 

“ Till all’s blue ! ” answered the other in the same 
vernacular ; and then his friend, with many interruptions 
from basket-women, street-sweepers, loitering cabs and 
thundering omnibuses, disclosed as a profound secret his 
attachment to the White Eose — an announcement that 
created no surprise whatever — and his intention to he 
married to her without delay, a determination that drew 
from Dolly a protracted and discouraging whistle. 

“ There is but one difficulty,” insisted Gerard, waxing 
eager and eloquent as he warmed to the subject, “ but one 
obstacle in my way, and that, you will say, is not easily 
surmounted. I cannot at present obtain conclusive proofs 
of my wife’s death. What makes me think she is dead ? 
Why of course she must be. You don’t suppose, Dolly, 
that woman would have left me alone if she had been above 
ground wffien I came into some money ? If she’s not dead, 
I could divorce her. Oh ! nonsense, I know I could. 
Time has nothing to do with it. But there’s no occasion 
for anything of the kind. I tell you she is dead. I am as 
sure of it, as that you and I are opposite the Burlington 
Ai’cade at this moment. I must prove it, that’s all. Prove 
it, and then, at last, Dolly, I shall win the prize I have 
been praying for all my life.” 

Before they parted it may easily be supposed that Dolly 
Egremont had pledged himself heart and hand to the 
assistance of his friend. 


CHAPTER XLIV 

“ OLD GBITS ’* 

In pursuance then of the compact between this Damon and 
Pythias, Dolly started for the country by a very early train 
the following morning, it having been arranged that he 
should employ his one day of leisure in a journey to Ripley 
Mill, while Gerard took steps for following up the necessary 
inquiries in town. 

It may not be out of place here to observe that Mr. 
Egremont was at this period in a fit state for any expedi- 
tion involving expenditure of surplus energy, endurance of 
physical discomfort, or defiance of personal danger. He 
found himself in that abnormal mood which, according to 
their several characters, impels men to play high stakes at 
a gaming-table, to traverse the Rocky Mountains on half- 
rations, or to cross the Atlantic in a yawl. Dolly felt sore 
and sick at heart, all the more so that the part of a dis- 
consolate suitor was quite out of keeping with his frank 
manly natoe and hopeful disposition. Nevertheless, truth 
to tell, he worried himself a good deal about Miss 
Tregunter, and his sorrow, which dated now some months 
hack, rather increased than diminished with the lapse of 
time. 

It is curious how differently people act under the 
different sentiments of friendship and love. If a man feels 
aggrieved by any imaginary neglect or unkindness from 
some tried comrade for whom he entertains a sincere 
regard, he asks simply for an explanation, and in three 
words their good understanding is re-established as firmly 
as ever ; but with a woman, who is, after all, the more 

334 


“OLD GBITS 


335 


easily reconciled of the two, he adopts a diametrically 
opposite system. He usually commences with a levity of 
conduct and bitterness of speech intended to force on her 
the conviction that he has no value for her good opinion 
whatever ; from this kind and considerate treatment he 
proceeds to a com*se of distant politeness and sulky with- 
drawal of his society, effectually shutting out from her 
every opportunity of making amends or even asking what 
she has done to offend, and finishes perhaps by a series of 
false accusations, a storm of unjustifiable reproaches, 
through which she thinks herself fortunate if she can 
perceive the blue sky of forgiveness beyond. 

Dolly Egremont had as yet only reached the second stage 
of this uncomfortable and intermittent malady. He was 
sulking with Jane Tregunter, was trying to persuade him- 
self he did not care for her, never had cared for her, never 
would care for her, nor for any other woman in the world ! 
He had a right, he thought, to feel aggrieved. This young 
lady had left town shortly after her refusal of Dandy 
Burton’s offer without vouchsafing to Dolly any notice of 
her intentions, or informing him of her destination. The 
fact is, Miss Tregunter, judging with more worldly wisdom 
than might have been expected from her character, was 
exceedingly jealous of her admirer’s connection with the 
Accordion and its snares. She hated the very name of 
an actress, she almost hated Dolly himself for associating 
with that amusing and fascinating class. Burton, in his 
first and second parallels, before risking a final attack, had 
made no small use of this offensive engine in his plan of 
operations ; especially had he insisted on the dangerous 
charms of Madame Molinara, the American star, who was 
always coming, but never came; and this was the more 
unfair because Dolly, as we know, had not set eyes on the 
syren who, yet a thousand leagues off, could cause poor 
Janey such disquietude. Here, again, a personal interview 
of ten minutes, a frank explanation of as many words, 
would have set everything right. But that explanation 
was never granted, those words remained unspoken. Miss 
Tregunter took herself off to the Continent, and made no 
sign. It was a long and dreary winter to the manager of 
the Accordion. How many letters for Nice or Mentone he 


386 


THE WHITE BOSE 


began and tore up unfinished to litter the wastepaper 
basket beneath his table, it is not for me to calculate. I 
believe that the counter-irritation produced by his cor- 
respondence with Madame Molinara did him a world of 
good. I believe if Miss Tregunter had remained abroad 
altogether he might eventually have attained a permanent 
cure. But, confound her ! she came back. The Morning 
Post took good care to tell him she was in England, 
tracking her steps, however, with considerable delicacy, no 
farther inland than the Pavilion Hotel, Folkestone. And 
behold Dolly in perpetual fever and discomfort once more ! 
Would she write now? She might find a thousand 
excuses ! Or should he ? Perhaps she had forgotten 
him outright. Women, he had always heard, both on and off 
the stage, were exceedingly prone to forget. Six months 
w^as a long time — foreign travel a wontous distraction. 
He thought, with some sinking of the heart, how many 
charming French marquises, Italian counts, Kussian 
diplomatists, and Austrian officers, might have made them- 
selves agreeable to the fresh English “Mees” while he 
was minding his rehearsals at the Accordion. What a 
fool he had been to care for her. It only made him 
wretched. Much better give it up ! Yes, he would give 
it up, once for all, and devote himself entirely to the 
business he had taken in hand for his friend. 

Dolly arrived at this sensible conclusion by the time he 
reached the railway station, to establish himself in a first- 
class carriage with a wrapper over his knees, and a number 
of the Fortnightly Review, which he did not even think 
of cutting, in his hand. Whirling into the soft, spring 
landscape of the real country, he found the job not quite 
so easy as he expected. Jane Tregunter had somehow 
mixed herself up with the morning sky and the budding 
hedges, the lambs frolicking in the meadow, the rooks 
fiapping heavily off the new-turned plough. When he got 
out for breakfast at Shunter’s Junction, the Hebe who 
made his tea, though it must be admitted no two people 
could be found more unlike, brought forcibly to his mind 
the woman he had resolved to think of no more. By the 
time he reached Kipley Station, two miles from Oakover, 
he had forgiven her from the bottom of his heart, only 


“OLD GBITS" 


337 


wished her well, and felt he would willingly give a whole 
season’s profits of the Accordion just to see her once 
again. 

Walking through the familiar lanes and footpaths about 
Oakover and Ripley, crossing the stiles he had jumped so 
often in his boyhood, scanning the orchards and meadows, 
all so little altered, save that their dimensions had un- 
accountably decreased, Dolly felt too surely that the old 
love contracted insensibly in boyhood had grown to be a 
part of himself, that to tear it away was to deprive him of 
the best and noblest in his nature, that for his own sake it 
was far better to cherish it pure and loyal, even though 
hopeless and unreturned, than harden to the selfishness of 
cynicism, or sink in the mire of reckless indulgence and 
dissipation. He resolved, then, that he would at least 
continue her friend, that he would tell her so frankly and 
candidly the first time he had an opportunity, that he 
would rejoice in her happiness, and do all in his power to 
increase its stability, even though the edifice should he 
reared on the ruins of his own. 

Then he shook himself fi*ee from the one ruling idea, 
raised his head, and walked on feeling, he knew not why, 
a happier and a better man. Following the well-remem- 
bered path to the Mill, and looking on the sluggish stream, 
the quiet fertile meadow, the orchard trees just coming into 
bud, he could hardly believe so many years had elapsed 
since he used to escape joyfully from Archer’s pupil-room, 
and wander down here in the soft spring weather, just like 
to-day, for a glance at the trimmers, a pot of mild ale, and 
a chat with old Grits. 

Was the miller alive ? He had barely time to ask him- 
self that question ere he saw the old man in person leaning 
an arm on the half-door of his bolting-room, scanning 
the meadows with a grim wrinkled frown just as he used to 
do all those years ago. It seemed as if he had never 
moved since Dolly saw him last. 

‘‘How do you do, Mr. Draper?” said the visitor, 
walking briskly up the garden-path between the fresh- 
dug beds. “ I know you, but you don’t know me,” 

Old Grits gave an ominous grunt. “Like enough,” he 
answered, “ and may be I doesn’t want to,” 

22 


338 


THE WHITE EOSE 


“Look again,” replied Dolly, no whit disconcerted; 
“you had a better memory when I was here last. Come, 
Mr. Draper, now haven’t you seen me before? ” 

The miller scanned him from head to foot, and Dolly 
could observe how the wrinkles had deepened under their 
thick coating of flour on the old man’s face. His temper, 
too, seemed the rustier for age. After a prolonged stare 
he shook his head, observing scornfully, “ There’s a fresh 
crop of fools comes up every seed-time. One more or less 
makes small odds with spring drawing on.” 

Dolly laughed outright, and something in his laugh 
recalled him to the old man’s recollection. Wiping his 
hand sedulously on his trousers ere he proffered it, the 
miller opened the half-door and hade his guest step in. 
“Your servant, sir — your servant,” he repeated nervously. 
“I know you now, I ask your pardon. You he one o’ 
Mr. Archer’s young gentlemen — the lusty ’un ” (he had 
obviously forgotten his name). “Walk in, sir — walk in. 
I be proud to see you. I thought you’d a drawed down 
nigh a score more, though, when you’d growed to be a 
man.” 

This in a tone of mournful soliloquy, as of one dis- 
appointed, disheartened, but accepting such dis-illusions 
for the inevitable drawbacks of life. 

“I’m glad to see you looking so hearty,” said Dolly, 
cheerfully, while he seated himself in the well-known 
wooden chair, and filled a glass of the ale brought in by 
a red-cheeked, red-armed lass, as like the original Jane of 
careless memory as she could stare, which indeed she did 
to some purpose at the well-dressed visitor. “ Here’s your 
health, Mr. Draper, and long may you keep it. Why, 
you’re not a day older than when we used all to come down 
here for an afternoon’s fishing after study. Ah ! how 
many years is that ago?” 

Cunning Dolly was working round to his point. Old 
Draper’s shaggy brows lowered, and his trembling hand 
jingled the ale-jug against the tip of his glass. “My 
service to you, sir,” said he, setting it down after but a 
modest sip. “ Ah ! it’s not so many years, maybe, but 
there’s been great changes, great changes, up at Oakover, 
and down here at Kipley, since you and me lifted the 


OLD GBITS" 


339 


trimmer with the seven-pound Jack on the night Mr. 
Vandeleur come by and took it home in his carriage. 
Yes, I remember of you now quite well, sir. Mr. Egre- 
mont, if I’m not mistaken. You was always a keen 
chap for the fishing, and now Squire’s gone, and Madam, 
she do never come to the Hall. And there’s them missed 
from the Mill down here as used to — as used to — well, as 
used to come in and out, merry enough and bright enough 
to thaw an anchor-frost * on the mill-wheel. Ah, young 
master! if it’s them as lives longest as learns most, it’s 
them too as has most to forget. I do know as my 
memory’s failing — I do sometimes wish he were gone for 
good and all.” 

Dolly looked round the room to avoid the old man’s 
eyes, in which tears were rising fast. On a table near the 
window he observed a woman’s straw hat, a watering-pot, 
and a pair of gardening gloves. He almost started. Could 
it be possible that the very person whose death he had 
come here to ascertain was alive and merry in the house ? 

Old Grits followed his visitor’s glance. Theer they 
be,” said he huskily, “ and theer they’ll bide till she come 
in at that theer door, or till I be carried out on it. They be 
ready for ye, my pretty, never fear, them wot you was alius 
used to weer, and well they became ye — more’s the pity I 
Ay, beauty’s a snare maybe, but there wasn’t such a one 
to look at not in a dozen parishes round. Look’ee here, 
Mr. Egremont — I mind your name now, sir — I’ve a been 
to their bow-meeting and what-not at Oakover, and see 
all the quality, ah 1 for twenty mile and more. If you’d 
taken and bolted of ’em nine times over, they’d never have 
looked more nor ‘ seconds ’ by the side of my Fan. Yes ; 
you may come when you like, my pretty. It’s all ready 
for you, and I got a new ribbon for your hat — was it last 
Kipley feast ? I don’t well mind ; Lady-day comes round 
so often now, and never a blink of fair spring weather fi:om 
year’s end to year’s end.” 

It seemed obvious to Dolly that her father at least 

* Anchor-frost— a term peculiar to millers, signifying a degree of cold 
so intense as to clog with ice the mill-wheel below the water-surface. A 
metaphor apparently drawn from the idea that the river’s bed is frozen 
BO hard, it could not hold an anchor. 


340 


THE WHITE BOSE 


believed Mrs. Ainslie was still alive, and he could pursue 
his inquiries therefore with less circumspection. 

“ I ought to have asked after my old friends when I sat 
down,” said he; “I haven’t forgotten any of them. Is it 
long, Mr. Draper, since you have heard from your 
daughter ? ” 

“Daughter!” exclaimed the miller, in a voice that 
shook painfully, notwithstanding the pitch to which it 
was raised. “ Who told you as I’d got a daughter ? 
There were a little maid here long ago as used to play in 
and out o’ that theer door, and hold on tight by Daddy’s 
finger when us went to peep at the big wheel like on the 
sly. There were a likely lass, as I’ve been tellin’ ye, what 
used to busk her gown and comb her long black hair in 
that theer room behind you, and come out singing till the 
whole place turned as merry as a christening and as bright 
as a sunrise. The Lord’s above all, and I’ve got two noble 
sons as lusty as yourself, Mr. Egremont, doing well in their 
business and honouring of their father. I ain’t unthankful 
for it. But I’ve never had a daughter not since that day 
my Fan left me with a lie in her mouth, to go away with 
that slim chap as was a friend of yours, Mr. Egremont. 
You’ll excuse me, sir ; you was always a gentleman, you 
was, but don’t let that chap and me ever come a-nigh. 
There’ll be blood between us, there will ! Ah ! she alius 
used to write afore he come and tuk her forrin. I’ll never 
believe as she’d forsake me of her own free will, like this 
here. Ah 1 little Fan, little Fan 1 I’ll not last long. 
Come back to me before I’m gone I It’s all ready for 
you. Come back whenever you’ve a mind! ” 

The miller fairly broke down, and hid his face in his 
hands. Dolly endeavoured to console him in vain. It 
was obviously impossible to obtain any information from 
the hurt, heart-broken father, and after a few common- 
place expressions of sympathy and condolence, Dolly 
thought the greatest kindness he could do his host was 
to finish his beer and depart as promptly as he might. 


CHAPTEK XLV 


“ THE LITTLE RED ROVER ” 

It was not much past noon when Mr. Egremont turned 
his back on the Mill, a good deal disappointed with the 
result of his researches, intending to retrace his steps to 
Ripley Station, and take the first train for London. 
Obviously Draper was in his dotage, and no clear in- 
telligence could be gained fi’oni that quarter. He had 
observed, too, while the old man rambled on about his 
daughter, an expression on the maid-servant’s face that 
seemed to denote contempt and impatience, as though her 
master’s hallucination were unquestionable, and of such 
frequent recurrence as to become wearisome. Altogether, 
Dolly felt puzzled on his friend’s account, and began to 
relapse into low spirits on his own. Notwithstanding the 
quiet promise of the fresh spring day, life seemed darker 
than usual. Was it worth while to take so much trouble 
about matters which resolved themselves, after all, into 
the vaguest uncertainties? Everybody was fishing, but 
nobody ever seemed to catch anything. Reflecting on 
the habits and pursuits of his own acquaintances, he could 
not think of one who sat down in peace, contented with his 
lot. Dandy Burton considered himself a model philosopher 
of the modern school; but the Dandy, in spite of his 
training, could not conceal the habitual restlessness and 
anxiety in which he lived. Gerard Ainslie possessed 
everything in the world to make him happy, but here he 


342 


THE WHITE BOSE 


was in hot water about Mrs. Vandeleur ! The poor old 
man at the Mill had nearly gone out of his mind for lack 
of his daughter ; and he himself, Dolly Egremont, one of 
the most popular fellows in London, manager of the 
Accordion Theatre, with health, strength, a good con- 
science, and a balance at his banker’s, detected a cloud 
before the sun ; because, forsooth, an ignorant young 
woman with a little red in her cheeks had of late 
betrayed her own want of common-sense in not appre- 
ciating him as he deserved. The malady from which this 
gentleman suffered has been compared with some propriety 
to fever and ague. Walking through the meadows by the 
river-side, he felt the cold fit coming on. Doing violence 
to his loyalty, he began even to depreciate Miss Tregunter’s 
exterior ; and this is a very virulent form of shivers indeed. 
Was she so good-looking after all ? Nay, even granting 
her attractions, what was beauty itself at the best? — a 
mere anatomical arrangement, a combination of certain 
tissues and properties, simply disgusting when analysed 
and taken in detail ! Why should all the world he at 
sixes and sevens about these painted dolls, differing from 
a child’s toy but in their powers of mischief? Were not 
women a mistake ? Should we not do better without 
them? 

He laid his hand on a stile and vaulted into a wide gi’ass- 
grown lane with high hedges on either side, and a few cart- 
tracks cutting deep into the soft elastic turf. In a twink- 
ling — his eye was quick or he would have missed it — in a 
twinkling, a small dark object, whisking out of the hedge 
twenty paces off, whisked hack again, to steal along the 
bramble-covered ditch, and cross at an angle out of sight 
farther on. 

Dolly stood transfixed. “ By Jove, it’s a fox, and I’ve 
headed him ! ” he muttered below his breath ; but his 
cynical reflections, his morbid misgivings of a moment back, 
were all scattered to the winds. His head went up, his eye 
brightened, his whole frame quivered with keen excitement, 
he felt as you feel when the first whip’s cap is up at the far 
end of the covert, and although the soft warm air he moist 
and still, the gorse is waving and seething like a sea in a 
storm beneath your favourite horse’s nose. 


TUB LITTLE BED BOVEB 


343 


That’s a hunted fox,” continued Dolly, when he had re- 
covered his astonishment ; “ the hounds must be out to- 
day. I’ll take my oath, by the way of him, he means 
business ! ” 

Dolly was right ; the hounds were out, and the “ little 
red rover ” had been holding his own gallantly for the last 
twenty minutes, mostly over grass. There were eighteen 
couple on his line, twelve of which were workers, and the 
remaining six had better have been left at home. It may be 
the ‘‘little red rover” possessed some intuitive knowledge 
of the fact. It was not the first time he had been hunted 
by a good many since the days of his cubhood, when he 
used to catch field-mice, bouncing and gambolling like a 
kitten amongst the secluded lawns and green shrubbery- 
walks at Oakover ; therefore, when he woke this morning, 
bright, glossy, brown, and beautiful, to hear the loud crack 
of the warning hunting-whip, lest he should be chopped in 
covert, succeeded by the whimper of a puppy, the rate of a 
servant, and the attesting chorus of some twenty silvery 
tongues, he led his pursuers a gamesome dance round his 
stronghold, running his foil with considerable sagacity, till 
the peal of those vengeful voices subsided to a puzzled 
silence, when he made the best of his way straight across 
the adjacent meadows, with a quarter of a mile start, a 
gallant spirit under his fur coat, and a firm conviction that 
he could reach Belton Beeches, six miles off as the crow 
flies, before they caught him. The “ little red rover” was 
but one, and his enemies, amongst whom, I presume, he in- 
cluded none of the horsemen, were Legion ; yet his heart, 
like his little body, was multum in parvo, tough, tameless, 
and as strong as brandy. “ He’s a straight-necked ’un I 
know,” observed the first whip, well back in the saddle for 
an awkward ragged bullfinch, when he had halloaed the 
hounds away and got them fairly settled to the line. “ If 
he don’t mean the old di-ain at Mark’s Close, he’ll go 
straight to the Beeches. Forrard, Caroline ! come up, 
horse ! ” The horse did come up, though with a scramble ; 
Caroline, somewhat shy of thundering hoofs, scored forward 
to her sisters ; and the keen ones, with the blood thrilling 
in their veins, made all the use of their horses they dared, 
feeling they were in for a run. 


344 


THE WHITE BOSE 


‘‘The little red rover” came stealing on, nevertheless, 
through the silence of the wide rush-grown pastures. Sheep 
scattered out of his way with considerable activity, rallying 
and forming gallantly enough when their enemy had passed, 
and doing their best for his assistance by crowding in on his 
very track. Grave oxen looked at him wistfully out of their 
meek brown eyes, and toned to graze again, till they heard 
the pack behind, when, abandoning all their usual dignity of 
deportment, they lowered their heads, kicked up their heels, 
blew smoke from their nostrils, stuck their ox-tails on end, 
and blundered about the fields as if they were mad. 
Countess and Caroline, Driver and Dairy-maid, Mar-plot, 
Melody, Marigold, and the rest, hunting steadily on through 
all impediments, now spreading and flinging themselves 
with the sagacity of experience, now bustling together and 
driving forward with the energy of instinct, came next in 
succession. After these the body of the pack — the parson 
of the parish, and a hard-riding cornet at home on leave ; 
then the huntsman, the first whip, nearly a quorum of 
magistrates, and those hounds that had better have been 
left at home, followed by horsemen who cross the fields, 
horsemen who stick to the roads, the hoy on a pony, 
the man in a gig, the gipsy with his donkey, and the 
labourer who, shouldering his spade, ran 'after the 
vanishing turmoil to have his hunt too, as far as the 
nearest hedge. 

Of all these “ the little red rover ” was doing his best to 
make an example, and he met with less hindrance than 
might have been expected in his flight. Once, indeed, he 
found himself turned by a man at plough, and in the very 
next field to that agriculturist, ran almost into the jaws of 
a sheep-dog that had lost its master, and was sniffing round 
an out-house in disconsolate bewilderment. But the sheep- 
dog being young, “ the little red rover ” showed him such a 
sharp set of teeth, and so formidable a grin, as sent the poor 
frightened puppy scouring off at its utmost speed in a con- 
trary direction ; and, but for the steadiness of old Bountiful, 
the dog, instead of the fox, would have been chased, and 
possibly run into, by her comrades, to the immortal disgrace 
of the pack. 

It was hard on ‘ ‘ the little red rover ” to be headed by 


THE LITTLE BED BOVEB" 


346 


Dolly Egremont, when he had come two-thirds of the 
distance to his haven ; but although the sight of a 
human figure in this unfrequented lane turned him for 
a score of yards or so, he dauntlessly made his point after 
all. 

Dolly stood, I say, for a moment, like a man transfixed. 
He was drawing his breath to holloa, when the light unfre- 
quent notes of hounds running hard reached his ear. Three 
or fom’ white objects dashed into the lane where the fox had 
entered, followed by a rushing cataract of comrades, and the 
whole, throwing their tongues eagerly, swarmed through 
the opposite fence, to check, as was but natural, in the field 
beyond. 

“ Hark back ! ” shouted Dolly, in the best dog-language 
he could muster, tearing gloves and clothes with frantic 
plunges to scramble through the fence. 

— n ye ! Hold your noise ! ” exclaimed a voice 
from the far side of the other hedge, followed by the excited 
huntsman himself, just escaping a fall, as he landed in the 
lane, with his horse hard held. 

“ Your fox is back ! ” protested Dolly, breathless with 
exertion and enthusiasm. 

*‘He’s not! He’s forrard!” replied the other, never 
taking his eye off his hounds. They had cast themselves 
nobly, and hit off the true line once more. 

“Let ’em alone I ” he added, in a voice of thunder, to 
one of the whips who was already across the lane, prepared 
to interfere, and ramming the spurs into his horse, without 
vouchsafing a glance at Dolly, scrambled over the fence to 
gallop on, with just one twang of his horn, that he couldn’t 
have resisted to save his life. 

The cornet, whose hat was stove in, and a hard-riding 
old gentleman who ought to have known better, followed in 
his wake. This succession of horses, already half-blown, 
made such a hole in the hedge as enabled Dolly to pass 
through. Though stout, he was no mean pedestrian ; and 
on he ran at a splitting pace, keeping the hounds still in 
view, and intent only on seeing as much of the sport as he 
could. 

Now the man who hunts on foot has at least one advan- 
tage over him who hunts on horseback. The former can go 


346 


THE WHITE BOSE 

SO straight. A hog-backed stile and a foot-board, four feet 
odd of strong timber with a slippery take-off, are to him 
articles of positive refreshment and relief. Dolly found 
himself able to negotiate one or two such obstacles, when 
the boldest horsemen were compelled to make a circuit and 
find a gap. He ran on, accordingly, with great enjoyment 
to himself, for nearly half a mile, watching the decreasing 
pack as they fleeted like a flock of seagulls over the pastures, 
and the foremost riders, who had again overtaken and left 
him behind, dipping and bobbing at the fences, as if cross- 
ing a stiff country were the easiest pastime in the world. 
Most of the field, too, had now straggled by, affording him 
an opportunity of observing the caution with which the 
majority of mounted sportsmen follow their favourite amuse- 
ment ; and after making a fruitless snatch at a loose horse, 
that deprived him of the little breath he had left, a deep 
turnip-field reduced the pedestrian first to a walk, then to a 
stand-still. 

In this field, for reasons which will presently appear, I 
am forced to admit Dolly’s vested interest in “ the little red 
rover” ceased and determined for good and all ; but the true 
sportsman, unless he be a master of hounds or huntsman, 
will not regret to learn that after a capital thing of five-and- 
forty minutes, this game old fox saved life and brush by 
entering the main-earth at Belton Beeches, just as the lead- 
ing hounds crashed over the wattled fence that bounded the 
covert, and the hard-riding cornet with his horse “ done to 
a turn,” entered the adjoining enclosure on his head. 
Let us hope that “ the little red rover ” may lead them 
many a merry dance yet ere he fulfils his destiny, and 
dies a glorious death in the open, under the soft November 
sky. 

Dolly, with his hand to his side, and the perspiration 
rolling down his nose, was making his way to the. gate, when 
the tramp of a horse coming up at a canter through the 
turnips caused him to hurry on, without looking back, that 
he might open it as speedily as possible for this belated 
equestrian. His hand was already on the latch, the 
horse’s nose was at his shoulder, when a voice that 
made him start in his mud-encumbered shoes, observed 
softly, — 


THE LITTLE BED BOVEB' 


347 


Thank you, Mr. Egremont. It’s impossible to catch 
them now. I think it’s no use my going any further.” 

Dolly rubbed his eyes to he quite sure he was not 
dreaming, giving his hot brow the benefit of the action, 
and looked up in the speaker’s face. 

*‘Miss Tregunter!” he exclaimed, in accents of the 
utmost confusion. ‘‘Why, I thought you were in Italy! 
What on earth are you doing here ? ” 

“ Why, haven’t I as good right to be here as you ? ” 
answered the young lady, playfully. “ Indeed, a better, it 
you come to that ; for I believe this very field belongs to 
my uncle. Besides, I am out hunting, all in proper form, 
with a groom I can’t find, and a horse I don’t fancy. Ah ! 
if I’d had Tomboy to-day they wouldn’t have slipped away 
from me like this I though perhaps then I should not have 
seen you, and it is so long since we have met.” 

Something in the tone of her voice sank very pleasantly 
in his ear. Her eyes were softer, her colom’ deeper, her 
manner more gentle than her wont. For a moment he 
forgot his misgivings, his resolutions, all the estrangement 
of the last few months, basking, as it were, in the glow of 
her presence, in the delight of looking once again on the 
face he loved so well. 

She saw she had lost nothing of her ascendancy, and, 
combined with her post of vantage in the saddle, this con- 
viction, no doubt, gave her confidence to assume a levity 
she did not really feel. 

“ But how come you to he here? ” she resumed ; “ and 
in such a ridiculous costume for hunting? — umbrella, 
shiny boots, tall hat, go-to-meeting coat, and no horse I 
You’ve not come back to poor old Archer as a private 
pupil, have you ? Mr. Egremont, give an account of your- 
self. What brought you to this part of the country? ” 

“I came down to find old Draper,” answered straight- 
forward Dolly, not observing a shade cross her brow, for 
she expected he had made the journey to look after some- 
body else. “ I’ve seen him this morning, and was on my 
way back to the station, when I fell in with the hounds. I 
little thought I should meet you after wondering where you 
were for nearly six months ! ” 

There was something of reproach in his tone, and it 


348 


THE WHITE ROSE 


smote her to the heart. She felt that, if he really cared 
for her, she had been acting unkindly by him, and deserved 
to lose him altogether. It would be very difficult, she said 
to herself, to give him up. They had now arrived in the 
high road. He stopped as if to wish her good-bye before 
he took the direction of the railway station, and laid his 
hand on her horse’s neck. 

‘‘I am going to London, Miss Tregunter,” said he. 
“ Shall I ever see you again ? ” 

The Accordion, the actresses, the American star, all his 
offences of omission and commission, faded from her mind. 
If he parted with her now, here by the sign-post, without 
any further explanation, would he ever come back again ? 
She trembled to think not. He, too, dreaded the farewell 
as conclusive. Neither knew the power each had over the 
other. 

Looking straight into the horizon, far beyond Belton 
Beeches, where the chase was at this very moment coming 
to an end. Miss Tregunter observed, in a faint voice, and 
with anything but the cordiality of a hospitable invitation, 
“ Are you obliged to go back by the two o’clock train ? 
Hadn’t you better come on to Aunt Emily’s, and have 
some luncheon after your run? ” 

Aunt Emily’s, where Miss Tregunter was staying, could 
not have been less than four miles as the crow flies from 
the sign-post under which they stood, and more than twice 
that distance from the only station at which the up-train 
stopped. A more inconvenient arrangement for a traveller 
due in town the same evening can scarcely be imagined ; 
nevertheless, this infatuated gentleman accepted the pro- 
posal with unconcealed delight, and in two seconds had 
turned his back on his destination, and was walking beside 
Miss Tregunter’ s horse with as light a step as if he had 
that moment emerged from bath and breakfast-room. 

They must have found a good deal to say, for they 
talked incessantly, and a man breaking stones on the road 
observed the lady’s head bend down once, as if to whisper. 
This, I think, must have been at some important stage of 
the dialogue — perhaps when Dolly vowed to give up the 
Accordion Theatre, at the end of the present season, under 
certain conditions, which he urged with considerable warmth. 


“ THE LITTLE BED BOVEB 


349 


It was a long four miles, I have already said, and over one 
of the worst roads in England. Yet when these wayfarers 
entered Aunt Emily’s lodge gates, I believe neither would 
have had the slightest objection to begin the homeward 
journey over again. 


CHAPTEK XL VI 


“immortelles ” 

But Dolly was not one who suffered his own happiness, 
however engrossing, to supplant the interests of his friend. 
Though feeling he had done “ good business,” as he called 
it, for himself in his trip down to Ripley, he also remem- 
bered he had in no way furthered those researches which 
were his primary object in leaving London. He had 
nothing to tell Gerard, except that old Draper seemed in 
complete ignorance of his daughter’s fate. He racked his 
brain to think what engines he could set in motion for the 
discovery he wished to make, and in a moment of inspira- 
tion, while hailing a Hansom at the stage-door of the 
Accordion, it flashed across him that he had often heard 
extraordinary stories of the ingenuity displayed by French 
detectives in such difficulties as his own. He wondered 
he never thought of them before. Mrs. Ainslie had left 
her husband when abroad ; that at least he knew, though 
he had forborne asking Gerard any further particulars of 
her flight. She had probably eloped with a foreigner, and 
must have spent at least some part of her life on the 
Continent. Why, of course, the French detective police, 
with its wonderful organisation, its mysterious intelligence, 
its extensive ramifications, and the unscrupulous manner 
in which it brought all these resources to bear on a given 
object, was the power to which he should have applied from 
the first. He began to consider how he could best put 
himself in communication with this formidable institution. 
Thus meditating, he remembered making acquaintance, 


“ IMMOBTELLES 


851 


a few evenings before, with Monsieur le Comte Tourbillon, 
attached in some undefined capacity to the French Legation, 
and looking at his watch, directed the driver to start 
without delay for that stronghold of diplomatic ingenuity. 

It is, I presume, an indisputable fact that nobody ever 
gets his primary object effected by visiting a legation of any 
description ; and Dolly felt scarcely dissatisfied — certainly 
not surprised — to learn from the politest of porters how 
Monsieur le Comte was absent from the Chancellerie at 
that instant, how he had not been there in the morning, 
and was not expected in the afternoon. He even thought 
himself fortunate in obtaining the Count’s address over a 
perfumer’s in Bond Street, and drove off once more on the 
track with a well-defined hope of running his quarry down 
in this sweet-smelling retreat. 

By good luck the Count had not yet left home when 
Dolly arrived, and, with the politeness of his nation, broke 
out at once into profuse acknowledgments of Mr. Egre- 
mont’s civility, accompanied by fervent protestations of 
assistance and good-will, when he learned that his visitor 
had already been to the Legation in search of him. 

“ What is it ? ” said the Frenchman, pushing forward a 
roomy arm-chair, and reaching down from the chimney- 
piece a deep box of cigarettes, without which sedatives 
it seemed impossible any conversation, involving interests 
of the slightest importance, could be carried on. “I speak 
in English, you know, mon cher. I think in English ; I 
share your insular tastes and feelings ; I begin my dinner 
with champagne. I rode a ‘ stipplechase ’ last autumn at 
Baden-Baden, — yes, very well. I back the favourite ; I 
drive my team ; I shoot my gr-r-rouse ! Figure to yourself 
that I am a veritable Briton — what you call true blue. 
Take one of these cigarettes ; they are of all that is finest 
in tobacco. And now say, then, what can I do for you? ” 

Dolly lit his cigarette, and observed thoughtfully between 
the whiffs, — 

“Your detective police. Count, is, I fancy, the best in 
Europe.” 

The Count laid his finger to his nose as only a French- 
man can, while he replied dictatorially, — 

“ For repression? No ! For retribution — for finesse — 


352 


THE WHITE BOSE 


for perseverance — for eventual discovery ? Yes — a hundred 
times ‘ yes ! ’ You remember that murder in the Kue 
Castiglione, and the number of suspected persons involved ? 
An apple- woman, a pensioner, a convict who had fulfilled 
his sentence, a Swiss governess, an English butler, the 
cripple who lived on the third-floor, a hospital nurse, the 
night porter, and a child ten years of age. It is true none 
of these were convicted, but our police arrested them all ! 
You have not forgotten the robbery of diamonds in open 
day from the shop of one Louvet, opposite the gardens of 
the Tuileries ? One brigand wedged the door, whilst his 
accomplice broke the window, and carried off a parure 
valued at eighty thousand francs. The shopman saw the 
man, the sentry at the garden-gate saw the man, six 
bystanders deposed on oath that they could identify the 
man, and pointed out the very house in which he took 
refuge. Well, our police hunted and hunted, like blood- 
hounds, till they ran him down at last ; but it was un- 
fortunately in the Morgue, and I fear nobody ever knew 
what became of the diamonds. Then there was that 
atrocious and daring murder committed by the man in the 
blouse, close to the Barriere de TEtoile, in presence of 
a hundred witnesses. The assassin walked up to an old 
gentleman who was a creditor for a sum of fifteen hundred 
francs, and shot him deliberately in the bosom with a 
pistol, which is at this moment in the hands of our police. 
Less than an hour elapsed ere they were on his track. 
They arrested his mistress, his blanchisseuse, the boy who 
blacked his boots. They took possession of his furnitm’e, 
clothing, and effects ; they traced him from Paris to Ver- 
sailles, from Versailles back to Paris, thence to Chalons- 
sur-Marne, Strasbourg, and across the Khine into Prussia. 
Back through Belgium to France, they were very close on 
him at the frontier, and a man answering his description in 
many particulars was taken, descending fi’om the coupe of 
a first-class carriage, at Lille. Oh, they searched, par 
exemple, searched everywhere, I can tell you, my friend.” 

The Count’s cigarette was done. He paused in deep 
meditation. 

“And they found him?” exclaimed Dolly, interested in 
spite of himself in so long a chase. 


“ IMMOBTELLES 


853 


The Count stretched out his hand for a fresh cigarette, 
while he answered thoughtfully, in his own language, — 

On ne I’a pas trouve, mais on le cherche toujours ! ” 

Emboldened by so successful an issue, Dolly now begged 
the Count’s good offices in obtaining the valuable assistance 
of this detective police for the object he had in view. 

“ Comment ? Vous desirez done constater la mort de 
quelqu’un,” said the Count; “ ca marche tout seul ! 
Nothing can be more simple. Is it indiscreet to ask 
particulars? ” 

Not the least,” answered Dolly. “ I have a friend who 
made an unhappy marriage.” 

‘‘ That is very possible,” observed the Count in par- 
enthesis. 

‘‘ This Mend,” continued Dolly, “ has for many years 
lost sight of his wife. In fact, she — she ran away from 
him. He has every reason to believe she is dead, but has 
no evidence of the fact. At present he is particularly 
anxious to obtain positive proof.” 

“ Precisely,” answered the Count ; “he wants to make 
another unhappy marriage. I perceive ” 

Dolly smiled. “ I hope they are not all unhappy,” 
replied he, thinking of a certain walk by a lady on horse- 
back not long ago. “ But in the meantime. Count, we are 
most desirous of finding out whether or not my Mend’s has 
been dissolved by death. The lady eloped with a country- 
man of yours, more than ten years ago, at Homburg or 
Baden-Baden.” 

The Count started. 

“Une Anglaise ! ” he exclaimed eagerly. “Aux yeux 
bruns, aux cheveux noirs. Tres belle ! Tres vive ! La 
taille un peu forte ! Pardon, mon cher. Your story 
interests me, that is all.” 

Dolly stared. “You seem to know her,” said he. 
“ And yet where you can ever have met Fanny Draper, I 
own, puzzles me not a little.” 

“ Fanni ! ” answered the Count. “ C’est ca! Fanchon ; 
at least, I always called her Fanchon. My friend, you 
came to describe a person to me! I will save you the 
trouble. Listen, I am going to tell you. Stop me if I am 
wrong. Fanchon was a brunette, very handsome for an 

23 


354 


TEE WHITE BOSE 


Englishwoman. Pardon : that, you know, must mean very 
handsome indeed. She had dark eyes, white teeth, and a 
high colour. She dressed her black hair in masses low 
down her neck, and generally wore heavy gold earrings. 
She spoke French badly — very badly ; English with a tone, 
seductive enough, of your charming patois. She was rude 
to her husband, who looked younger than herself, and she 
had run away with him. Am I right ? ” 

Dolly, whose eyes were getting rounder and rounder in 
sheer amazement, could but nod assent. The Count 
proceeded in a tone of satisfaction, such as that with which 
a man works some beautiful problem in mathematics to a 
demonstration. 

‘‘ They lived in a small and modest apartment opposite 
the Kursaal when at Homburg, and the husband played 
heavily — heavily, that is, for him. He was a poor man, 
hut his manners were better than his wife’s. They lived 
irregularly — what we call in England, we others, ‘ from 
hand to mouth.’ They were not happy in their menage. 
Tiens, my friend ! You need not trust to our detective 
police. I can give you all the information you require. 
This couple were in Paris in the spring of — voyons — the 
spring of 18 — . From Paris they went to Baden, from 
Baden to Homburg, and at Homburg the wife left her 
husband with a French nobleman. Would you like to 
know their name ? Behold, I am not yet exhausted. It 
was Enslee, Enslee : is it not so ? Say, then, am I 
right? Have I been telling you a true story or a fable ? ” 

‘‘How did you learn all this? ’’gasped Dolly, in the 
plenitude of his astonishment. 

The Count threw the end of his cigarette into the fireplace. 

“ C’est tout simple ! ” said he, composedly. “ Parbleu, 
c’est moi qui I’a enlevee ! ” 

The authority was unquestionable, but the situation a 
little puzzling. Dolly’s first feeling was the truly Anglican 
instinct which hade him consider this man the mortal 
enemy of his friend : his second, a more cosmopolitan 
reflection that the Frenchman had really conferred on 
Gerard Ainslie a very important service. Altogether, he 
deemed it wise to make the best of his position and 
emulate the other’s coolness. 


IMMOBTELLES^’ 


355 


“And what became of her?” asked Dolly, in as in- 
different a tone as if he had been talking about a cat or a 
canary. 

To increase his amazement, the Count’s eyes filled with 
tears. 

“ She died,” he answered, in a voice broken by emotion. 
“ Pity me, my friend ; she died, and I — I was not with her 
to arrest her last look, to catch her last sigh. This it is 
that excites my regret, my remorse. ’Tis true that she had 
left me — left me as she left her husband. The only differ- 
ence was that she did not care for him, while to me she 
was devoted — ^yes, devoted ! Many women have been in 
the same plight, I imagine, Egremont, but none I think 
more so than my poor Fanchon. Even at this distance of 
time I can recall the graceful pose in which she would stand 
at her window watching for my return, with her showers of 
light brown hair. Stay ! No ; that could not be Madame 
Enslee — I am confusing her with some of the others. 
Pardon, my dear Egremont, these souvenirs of the heart 
are apt to distract a man in the head, and I have always 
been of an affectionate temperament, that is why I suffer. 
Oh ! I have suffered, I tell you, not only in this instance. 
Enough — to business. My most sacred feelings shall be 
repressed in the cause of my friend. You wish to constater 
the death of this Madame Enslee ? Is it not so ? ” 

“I do indeed,” answered Dolly, beginning, as he hoped, 
to see daylight on Gerard’s behalf. “ She died, you say. 
When ? where ? Are you sure of this ? How do you 
know ? ” 

“I have seen her tomb ! ” answered the Count, rising 
to his feet, and standing erect in the attitude of one who 
pronounces a funeral oration. “ With trembling steps, 
with weeping eyes, handkerchief in hand, I visited the 
cemetery in which her sacred ashes repose. She lies at 
Brussels, my friend. From my diplomatic station here, in 
your great country, I look towards La Belgique, and my 
eyes fill with scalding tears, for I shall never see my sweet 
Fanchon again. Pardon my emotion, monsieur. You are 
a man of heart, a man of courage ; you will not despise my 
weakness. I dined at the Hotel de Flandres ; I walked 
out in the peaceful sunset ; I traversed the cemetery ; I 


356 


THE WHITE BOSE 


hung immortelles on my Fanchon’s tomb; there were 
flowers growing round it, the walks were swept, and the 
grass new-mown. I recognised the attention of my friend. 
Prince Dolgoroukoff : he also was homme de coeur. We 
travelled back to Paris together, and mingled our regrets. 
I am a philosopher. Quoi ! But philosophy can only 
dominate, she cannot destroy. Are you satisfied, Mr. 
Egremont? Bah! Let us talk of other affairs. Let us 
dissipate these sombre memories. I go to make a little 
tour in the park. Do me the honour to accompany me. 
You excuse yourself ; you have not time. It is my loss. 
Permettez, adieu, monsieur ; ou plutot, au revoir I ” 

So Dolly took his departure, puzzled not a little by the 
extraordinary confusion of feelings to which he had lately 
been a witness. His uninitiated palate revolted from this 
salmi of remorseful memories, habitual libertinism, and 
shameless depravity, spiced with a seasoning of false senti- 
ment. Nevertheless, he felt he had so far obtained good 
news for Gerard, and went on his way rejoicing. 

It would have damped his satisfaction considerably could 
he have witnessed the cloud of uncei’tainty that overspread 
his informant’s countenance as the latter paused on the 
threshold of his apartment, gloved, hatted, and equipped 
for a walk. 

“ Tiens 1 ” said the Count, putting his hand to his fore- 
head, and trying hard to unravel the entanglement of 
memories it contained. ‘‘ Have I deceived myself after 
all ? Was it the English Fanchon whose grave I watered 
with my tears at Brussels, or that tall girl from Innspruck, 
or the Alsatian blonde ? How stupid I am I Fanchon ! 
Fanchon ! It is a vile habit of mine to call every woman 
with whom I have relations by that endearing name. It is 
convenient at first, no doubt; but see what confusion it 
makes in the end. N’importe I Fanchon, or Finette, or 
Fleur-de-lis, or Feu-follet, it makes little difference ; the 
immortelles would have been withered by this time, all the 
same ! ” 


CHAPTER XL VII 


“ SURGIT AMARl” 

Gerard Ainslie sat at breakfast in bis cheerful room over- 
looking the park, with a bright spring sunshine pouring in 
on his white tablecloth, and the balmy air stealing through 
his open window to stir the broad sheet of his morning 
paper, propped against the coffee-pot. There was a tender 
quiver of green leaves, a fragrance of opening buds and 
bursting vegetation, pervading the world outside ; and 
within, for Gerard at least, late in life as it had come, the 
veritable spring-tide of the heart. 

He was happy, this bright morning, so happy ! A 
kindly, well- worded letter from Dolly, detailing the inter- 
view with Count Tourbillon, had been brought by his 
servant when he woke, and it seemed like the announce- 
ment of freedom to a prisoner for life. True, he had given 
more than one gentle thought to the memory of the woman 
who had loved him so recklessly, deceived him so craelly ; 
but all sadder emotion was speedily swallowed up in the 
joyous reflection that now at last he might stretch his hand 
out for the White Rose, and take her home to his breast 
for evermore. What a world this seemed suddenly to have 
become ! How full of life and beauty everything had grown 
in the space of an houi’ ! He could scarcely believe in the 
listlessness of yesterday, or realise the dull weight of sorrow 
he had carried for so many years that he was accustomed 
to its pressure, and only knew how grievous it had been 
now, when it was shaken off. He sat back in his arm- 
chair, absorbed in dreams of happiness. He felt so good, 
so considerate, so kindly, so thankful. How delightful, he 


368 


THE WHITE BOSE 


thought, thus to be at peace with self, in favour with for- 
tune, and in charity with all men ! 

His servant threw open the door and announced “ Mr. 
Burton.” 

I suppose since the fall of our first parents, there never 
was a Garden of Eden yet into which a serpent of some 
sort did not succeed in writhing himself soon or late, — 
never a rose in which, if you did hut examine closely, you 
might not find an insect, possibly an earwig, at the core. 

Gerard, cheerfully and hospitably greeting his early 
visitor, little suspected how that gentleman was about to 
combine the amiable qualities of insect and reptile in his 
own person. 

‘‘Breakfasted!” replied the Dandy, in answer to his 
host’s inquiry. “ Hours ago ! Been round the park since 
that, and half-way to Kensington. Fact is, my good fellow, 
I’m restless, I’m anxious, I’m troubled in my mind, and it’s 
about you ! ” 

“ About me 1 ” said the other. “ Don’t distress yourself 
about me. Dandy. I’ve had a roughish time of it, as you 
know, but I’m in smooth water at last. If you won’t eat. 
I’ll have the things taken away.” 

While a servant was in the room. Burton preserved an 
admirable composure, enlarging pleasantly enough on those 
engrossing topics which make up the staple of everyday 
conversation. He touched on the political crisis, the new 
remedy for gout, the Two Thousand, the Derby, the Jockey 
Club, the Accordion, and the American actress of whom 
everybody was talking ; while Gerard listened with a vague, 
happy smile, not attending to a syllable, as he pictured to 
himself the White Bose moving gracefully through her 
morning-room, amongst her flowers, and wondered how 
early he could call without exciting remarks from the 
household, or outraging the decencies of society. 

The moment the door closed. Burton’s face assumed an 
expression of deep and friendly concern. 

“Jerry,” said he, “I didn’t come here at early dawn 
only to tell you what ‘ the Man in the Street ’ says. I’ve 
got something very particular to talk to you about. Only 
— honour ! — it must go no farther than ourselves.” 

Since they left Archer’s years ago, he had not called 


SURGIT AMARI^' 


359 


Ainslie by the familiar boyish nickname. The latter 
responded at once. 

“Out with it, old fellow ! Is it anything I can do for 
you?” 

Burton became perfectly saint-like in his candour. 

“ You will be offended with me, I know,” said he. “But 
a man ought not to shrink from doing his duty by him even 
at the risk of quarrelling with his friend. You and I are 
not mere acquaintances. If you saw me riding at a fence 
where you knew there was a gravel-pit on the other side, 
wouldn’t you halloa to stop me? ” 

Gerard conceded that he certainly would bid him “ hold 
hard,” marvelling to what this touching metaphor tended 
the while. 

“ Jerry,” continued his friend, with exceeding frankness, 
“ I have reason to believe you are going to ride at a very 
blind place indeed. You shan’t come to grief if I can help 
it!” 

Ainslie laughed good-humom’edly. “ Show us the gravel- 
pit,” said he. “I don’t want to break my neck just yet, I 
can tell you.” 

“You won’t like it,” answered the other. “ It’s about 
Mrs. Vandeleur.” 

Gerard rose and took two turns through the room. Then 
he stopped opposite Burton’s chair, and asked stiffly, almost 
fiercely, — “"V^at about Mrs. Vandeleur? Mind, I have 
known that lady a good many years. No man alive, not 
the oldest friend I have, shall say anything disrespectful of 
her in my presence.” 

The Dandy began to think he didn’t quite like his job, 
but he had resolved to go through with it. 

“ You make my task very difficult,” said he; “ and yet 
you must know, it is only in your interest I speak at all. 
Sit down, Ainslie, and let me assure you that the subject 
cannot be more painful to you than it is to me.” 

Gerard sat down, took a paper-cutter from the writing- 
table, and began tapping it irritably against his teeth, while 
Burton watched him with about as much compunction as he 
might have felt for an oyster. 

He had no particular grudge against his old fellow-pupil, 
entertained no rabid sentiment of jealousy that the woman 


b60 


THE WHITE BOSE 


wlio had dismissed him so unceremoniously should be too 
favourably inclined towards the returned gold-digger, — but 
it was only through Gerard, as he believed, that he could 
crush the White Kose to the earth. Men have such 
different ways of showing their attachment. The kindly, 
gallant spirit, the stuff of which a really brave heart is 
made, can continue loyal even under defeat, can sacrifice its 
own happiness ungrudgingly to hers, whom it loves better 
than self, and while writhing in its acutest sufferings, can 
obey the first instinct of pluck, and say, ‘‘ I am not hurt.” 

But the cur, howling under punishment, turns fiercely 
on the once caressing hand, tears and worries at the heart 
it cannot make its own, cruel as cowardly, seeks or creates 
a hundred opportunities to inflict the pain it feels. 

Burton hated Mrs. Vandeleur with a hatred that sprang 
from pique, disappointment, and a sense of conscious 
unworthiness discovered by one whom he had hoped to 
deceive. Therefore, he determined to be revenged. There- 
fore, he swore, in his old idiom, ‘‘ to spoil her little game.” 
Therefore, he stuck at no baseness, however unmanly, to 
detach her from the one person in the world who could have 
made her happy. 

But effectually to work out his plans, it was necessary to 
be on good terms with the enemy. He had written many 
notes, wearied a score of common friends, and submitted to 
much humiliation with this object. Now he began to see 
the fruit ripening he had been at such charges to bring to 
maturity. 

“ It is not yet too late,” said he, standing on thehearth- 
rug and gesticulating impressively with his umbrella, ‘‘for 
what I have to tell you. Had she been your wife, of course 
I must have held my tongue. Ainslie, the world says you 
are going to marry Mrs. Vandeleur. I don’t ask you whether 
this is true ; but you and I were boys together, and there is 
something you ought to know, which shall not be withheld 
by any foolish scruples of mine.” 

Gerard felt his very lips shake. There was more at 
stake here than wealth, honour, life, but he steadied 
himself bravely, and bade the other “go on.” 

“ You have cared for this woman a great many years, I 
fancy,” continued Burton, in grave, sympathising tones. 


^^SUEGIT AMABI 


361 


“ Believe me, from my soul I feel for you. But it is better 
you should be undeceived now than hereafter. Hang it ! 
old fellow,” he added, brightening up, “ they’re all so, you 
may depend upon it. There never was one born worth 
breaking your heart about.” 

With dry lips Gerard only answered, You have told me 
nothing yet. Speak out, man. I’m not a child.” 

“ She has made love to a great many fellows besides 
you, Jerry,” said the Dandy. ‘*Mind, I’m too old a bird 
to credit half or a quarter of the scandal I hear, but, at the 
same time, I cannot shut my eyes to what I see. Ask any 
man in London, if you don’t believe me. You’ve not been 
in the world so much as I have ; and besides, you’re such a 
fierce, game sort of chap, people would be shy of telling you 
anything they thought you didn’t like. It is only a true 
friend who dare take such liberties. I don’t want to hurt 
your feelings. I don’t want to blacken anybody’s character ; 
but, Jerry, indeed this lady is not fit to be your wife. You 
wouldn’t like to marry a woman that’s been talked about.” 

The paper-cutter broke short off in Ainslie’s grasp. 
“Blacken! Talked about!” he exclaimed furiously; 
then, checking himself, added in a calmer tone, “I 
believe you mean kindly. Burton, but you have proved 
nothing even now.” 

The latter opened his pocket-book, took from it three or 
four folded papers, smoothed them out methodically on the 
table, and observed — 

“I suppose you know Mrs. Vandeleur’s hand-writing? 
Look at those ! ” 

They were receipts of recent date for large sums of money, 
paid, as it would seem, by Burton to Mrs. Vandeleur’s 
account, and represented, indeed, the withdrawal of certain 
investments he had made, during their pecuniary confederacy, 
on her behalf. Gerard opened his eyes wide, as also his 
mouth, but common sense had not yet quite deserted him, 
and he pushed the papers back, observing — 

“ I don’t see what these have to do with the question. 
They refer, apparently, to some matter of business between 
— between Mrs. Vandeleur (he got the name out with 
difficulty) and yourself. It may or may not be a breach 
of confidence to show them, but — (and here he hesitated 


362 


THE WHITE BOSE 


again) — but I don’t suppose a man takes a receipt from a 
woman he cares for ! ” 

“ Confound the gold-digger ! ” thought Burton ; “ where 
did he get his knowledge of life? ” He turned a franker 
face than ever on his friend, and searched once more in 
the pocket-book. 

“ You talk of breach of confidence,” said he. I am 
the last person in the world to betray a trust. But see the 
corner in which I am placed. Am I to keep faith with a 
woman to the destruction of my friend ? Jerry, you are a 
man of honour. What would you do in my case ? ” 

“I cannot advise you,” answered the other in a faint 
voice, “ and I cannot understand you. There seems to be 
something more to say. Let us get it over at once.” 

He could not have endured his torture much longer. He 
was ready now for the coup de grace. 

From an inner flap of the pocket-book Burton produced 
a note in a lady’s hand-writing, and tossed it to his friend. 
It had no envelope nor address, but there were Norah’s 
free, bold characters ; there was Norah’s monogram. The 
very paper was peculiar to Norah, and the scent she had 
used from childhood seemed to cling faintly about its 
folds. Gerard was steady enough now, and nerved himself 
to read every word bravely, as he would have read his death- 
warrant. 

It was the note Mrs. Vandeleur had written long ago to 
Jane Tregunter, about a fancy ball, and which Burton had 
abstracted from her writing-table. Every endearing term, 
every playful allusion, would equally have suited the hurried 
lines a lonely woman might send to the man she loved. 
The tears almost rose to his eyes while he thought what 
he would have given for such a production addressed to 
himself ; but that was all over now. It had lasted for — 
how many years ? Never mind. It was all over now. He 
folded the note carefully in its former creases, and returned 
it to Burton, observing, very gravely — 

‘‘ You ought never to have shown such a letter as that to 
a living soul.” 

“ You are the last man who should reproach me,” retorted 
the Dandy, affecting to be much hurt, and feeling, indeed — 
such is the power of deception in the human mind — that 


^^SURGIT AMABI 


363 


his Mend was not using him so well as he deserved ! 
“ Perhaps I might have valued it more had I not known the 
writer’s character so well. It would have been the worse 
for you. Good-hye, Gerard. I never expected your 
gratitude, and I came here prepared to lose your Mendship, 
hut I don’t care. I have done my duty, and some day you 
will confess you have judged me unfairly.” 

So the Dandy walked out with all the honours of injiu’ed 
innocence, and Gerard sat him down, with his head bowed 
in his hands, numbed and stupefied, wondering vaguely how 
such things could he. 

Never before, in any of his adventures, at any stage of 
his wanderings — in the crisis of danger, or the depth of 
privation — had he felt so utterly lost and desolate. 
Hitherto there had been at least a memory to console 
him. Now, even the Past was rubbed out, and with it 
everything was gone too. There was no hope left in life — 
no comfort to cheer — no prize to strive for — no guerdon to 
gain. The promise had vanished from the future — the 
colour had faded out of nature — there was no more magic 
in the distance — no more warmth in the sunshine — no 
more glory in the day. 


CHAPTER XL VIII 


“he COMETH not” 

Man, having the gift of reason, shows himself, where his 
affections are involved, perhaps the most unreasonable of 
living creatures. Corydon, offended with Phyllis, becomes, 
as far as she is. concerned, a mere drivelling idiot, and 
a sulky one into the bargain. He may feed his bullocks, 
shear his sheep, plough his furrows, and thresh his wheat, 
with as much judgment as before their rupture, but nothing 
will persuade him to bring that good sense which he carries 
about over the farm, to bear on the reconciliation he desires. 
If he didn’t plant them carefully in drills, would he expect 
huge turnips to rain from heaven into his ox-troughs? 
Wherefore, then, should he stand with his hands in his 
pockets, whistling a tune at the other end of the parish, 
when the object really next his heart is to carry the vixen 
off with him in a tax-cart to the fair ? There is a certain 
element of self-conceit in the male animal, that he calls 
proper pride, forbidding him to tender the first advances, or 
even to meet his rustic beauty half way, and the result of 
such egotistical stupidity is deep sorrow to her, much 
vexation to himself, possibly a continued rupture that leads 
to the eventual unhappiness of both. One tender word, 
even one kind look, in time, might have saved it all. 

Men deal hard measure to those they love. The better 
they love them, the harder the measure. Perhaps there 
is no injustice more cruel than to make a woman answer- 
able for the slanders of which she is the innocent and 
unconscious object, nay, of which, in some cases, the man 
who visits on her his own vexation is the original cause, 


“HE COMETH NOT” 


365 


She has been imprudent, it may be, for his sake. The 
world is not slow in discovering such follies, nor averse to 
exposing them ; but it is hard that he for whom the risk 
was ventured should be the one to exact the penalty, that 
he, whose very hand has soiled the flower, should therefore 
leave it to droop and wither in the shade. 

Gerard Ainslie, with a kindly nature and somewhat too 
sensitive a heart, had not one whit more of forbearance, 
not one grain more of good sense, than his neighbours. 
** Mrs. Vandeleur had been talked about — talked about! ” 
This was what he kept on repeating to himself till he had 
chafed and irritated the wound to a festering sore; the 
pure and gentle spirit he had elevated into an ideal of 
womanly perfection was, then, a mere creature of common 
clay like the rest. His idol, that he thought so far above 
him, had been dragged through the mire like other men’s. 
His love was no longer spotless — there were stains on the 
petals of the White Kose ! With masculine inconsistency, 
during those long years of sorrow and separation he had 
never been jealous of her husband, like this ! Talked 
about I Very likely they were laughing over his infatua- 
tion, and sneering her fair fame away at that very moment 
in the clubs. Talked about I Perhaps even now some 
coxcomb was sitting by her in the well-known drawing- 
room, looking with bold insulting stare into those eyes of 
which his own could scarce sustain the lustre, plying her 
with the jargon of empty gallantry, nay, even making love 
to her, not unwelcome, in serious earnest 1 

And this was the woman so associated with the holiest 
and best part of his nature, that to him the very hem of 
her garment had been a sacred thing; yet all the while 
she must have been a pastime for half the men in London I 
A practised flirt; a mere faded coquette. Experienced, 
notorious, fast — good fun — and, talked about! 

He walked up and down the room till he felt half mad. 
He made a thousand resolutions, and dismissed them all as 
soon as formed. He would order his hack, ride off to her 
at once, and overwhelm her with reproaches. He would 
never enter her house, nor speak to her, nor even set eyes 
on her again. He would rush into society, and throw 
himself everywhere in her path, to cut her to the heart by 


366 


THE WHITE BOSE 


the good-humoured condescension of his greeting, the 
placid indifference of his manner. He would leave England 
for ever, and go where there was nothing to remind him of 
the hateful bewitching presence, the dear accursed face ! 
It rose on him, even while he thus resolved, in its pale 
thoughtful beauty, with the sweet sad smile, the deep, 
fond, haunting eyes, and then, I think, he tasted the very 
bitterest drop in the cup he had to drain. 

These sorrows are none the less grievous while they last, 
because they are sickly, unreal, shadowy, sentimental. 
Gerard Ainslie was very miserable indeed, enduring just 
as much torture as he could bear, and all because a man, 
in whose honesty he placed little confidence, of whose 
intellect he entertained but a mean opinion, had told him 
the woman he loved was talked about ! 

Nevertheless, the only one of his resolutions to which he 
did adhere was the unwise determination to avoid Mrs. 
Vandeleur. He refused sundry invitations, threw over 
several engagements, and kept out of her way with 
studious persistency, till he made her almost as wretched 
as himself. 

The White Rose began by wondering why he did not 
come to see her, as was indeed, natural enough, when she 
recalled the tenour of their last few interviews. He must 
have been summoned out of town, she thought, on sudden 
business, perhaps connected with herself ; and this agree- 
able supposition caused her to wait with more patience 
than might have been expected ; but when day after day 
passed by, and she kept her carriage standing at the door, 
in the vain hope that he might call before she went out, 
when hourly posts came in, and scores of notes in various 
shapes were delivered by footmen, commissioners, and 
messengers of every description, yet none arrived bearing 
a superscription in Gerard’s handwi-iting, she began to feel 
nervous, depressed, and sick at heart. 

Then she took to going out of an evening to such balls, 
dinners, or other gatherings as she thought it possible he 
might attend, and found herself as usual, a welcome guest. 
The smartest ladies in London considered Mrs. Vandeleur 
an additional ornament to the best filled drawing-room; 
and amongst whole packs of cards ranged round the glass 


HE COMETH NOT 


867 


over her chimney-piece, she had only to select the invita- 
tions that pleased her best. She drove wearily round, 
therefore, from one to another of these crowded festivities, 
and each seemed more tiresome than its predecessor, 
because amongst all those vapid hundreds the only face 
she cared to look on escaped her still. 

It is dreary work to assist at such amusements when the 
mind is ill at ease, the heart far away. Keenly and 
bitterly the happiness of others brings before us our own 
sorrow ; and the very qualities of person and bearing we 
most admire, only remind us the more painfully of our 
own loved and lost, who would have shone so brightly 
here. The memory of the head is the most precious in- 
gredient of human intellect, but surely it is wise to crush 
and stifle the memory of the heart. 

Mrs. Vandeleur thought more than once of consulting 
her staunch friend Dolly Egremont, but was deterred from 
this step by a variety of motives, amongst which that 
gentleman’s continual employment at his theatre, and 
intense preoccupation about Miss Tregunter, were not the 
least urgent. She entertained, besides, the instinctive 
delicacy that scares a woman from the subject dearest to 
her, despite the relief she feels it would be to share her 
burden with another. Had she met him in society it is 
probable that her reserve would have given way, and all 
her sorrows been poured freely out, but Dolly Egremont 
found no time now for such frivolities as dinner-parties, 
dances, or concerts. Every moment he could spare from 
the Accordion was devoted to reconciling his lady-love to 
its exigencies, soothing her jealousy of the American 
actress lately arrived, and choosing costly articles for 
domestic use, shortly to become the property of both. 

So, after a deal of hesitation, and a certain petulant 
conviction that she could bear suspense no longer, Mrs. 
Vandeleur sat down to her writing-table, determined to 
hazard one frank, honest, and final appeal to her unac- 
countable lover by letter. How should she begin ? She 
couldn’t call him her “ darling Gerard.” It seemed so 
cold and formal to address him as “ Dear Mr. Ainslie.” 
She plunged into her task at once with a long line that 
reached right across the page. 


368 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“What has happened? How have I offended you? 
Why have you never been near me ? Nay, why have you 
systematically avoided me almost since the day (it seems 
now to be years ago) that, I am not ashamed to confess, 
made me the happiest woman in London ? I need not go 
into the past. Heaven knows you cannot have reproached 
me as I have reproached myself. Whatever sorrows I 
may have to endure I deserve richly, and at your hands. 
Perhaps this is why I am so humble now. Perhaps this 
is why I am prompted to write you a letter that you will 
condemn as forward, unwomanly, uncalled for. I cannot 
help it. I seem to have grown so reckless of late. Since 
I was quite a girl ever 3 d;hing has gone against me, and I 
think I have nothing on earth to care for now. There are 
some things people can never forget. Oh, how I wish 
they could! There were a few months of my life, long 
ago — don’t you remember them, Gerard? — in which I 
was really happy. How quickly they passed away, and 
yet I have no right to repine, for I have lived that dear 
time over and over again so often since 1 If I were to tell 
you that my feelings have never altered since I was Norah 
Welby, keeping house for poor papa at Marston, you would 
not believe me, how could you? and you would have a right 
to despise me for the avowal. I don’t deserve to be 
believed. I do deserve to be despised. I have been so 
vile, so heartless, so false, and oh, so foolish. No punish- 
ment that I suffer can be greater than I ought to expect. 
And yet, Gerard, I am so very miserable. I blame 
nobody. I am sure I have behaved wickedly by you, and 
it is quite right I should be the sufferer, but can we not 
be friends ? Dear old friends, that’s all. I have not too 
many, I assure you, and I prize the few I possess as they 
deseiwe. You need not shun me as if you hated my very 
sight. You were not at Lady Billesdon’s last night, nor 
Mrs. Fulljam’s the night before, nor at the Opera, and 
there was somebody I took for you in the stalls at the 
French play, but when he turned round it was a horrid 
man with an eye-glass. I was so disappointed I could 
have cried. 

“ Gerard, I am used to disappointments now, though I 
don’t think practice makes me bear them one bit better. 


BE COMETH NOT 


869 


Do not give me another when I entreat you to let us meet 
once more ; not here — I will never ask you to come here 
again, but anywhere, anywhere, in society — in the world — 
I only want to shake hands with you and know that 
I am forgiven. You will then feel that I am still, as 
always, 

‘‘ Your sincere friend, 

“Norah Vandeleur.” 

This rather incoherent production the White Rose sealed 
and stamped with exceeding care, hiding it thereafter 
within the folds of her dress somewhere beneath her chin, 
and resolving, for greater security, to drop it in a pillar- 
post-hox with her own hands, though why the ordinary 
means of transmission should not have served her on the 
present occasion I am at a loss to explain. I think I can 
understand the reason she ordered her brougham some 
hours earlier than usual, and sent it round to meet her, 
while, still carrying the letter next to her skin, she pro- 
ceeded leisurely on foot to saunter through the quietest 
part of the park, whence nevertheless, herself unnoticed, 
she could obtain a view of the Ride and the equestrians 
who frequented it for their morning gallops. 

Of course, a personal interview with Gerard, especially if 
accidental, would be more dignified, and also more to the 
purpose than thus suing him in forma pauperiSy as it were, 
by letter. Moreover, while the fresh spring air cooled her 
brow, and the gay enlivening scene, of which she herself 
constituted one of the fairest objects, raised her spirit, she 
began to think she might have been premature in her alarm, 
over-hasty in her conclusions. Supposing Gerard’s seces- 
sion was only accidental after all ; supposing he was at that 
very moment hurrying back to town, or should even call at 
her house while she was out and receive her letter when he 
returned home, why, what would he think of her ? How 
would he accept that last clause in it, tantamount to giving 
him up ? Would he take her at her word ? Not he ! Sm-ely, 
after all those years, he must love her still. The conviction 
stole into her senses like the soft spring air into her lungs, 
bringing with it warmth and vigour and vitality. If it was 
true, ought she not to punish him just a little for his late 


3'70 


TEB WHITE BOSE 


defection ? She could not quite make up her mind about the 
letter. At last she determined to send it if she saw nothing 
of Gerard during her walk, feeling a vague sense of relief 
as though she had shifted responsibility from her own 
shoulders by thus wisely leaving the whole question to 
depend on the merest accident. 

By this time she had unconsciously drawn nearer the 
Bide, and now her heart leaped into her mouth, for this 
was surely Mr. Ainslie galloping up on a bay horse discon- 
tented with its bridle. The cavalier gave her as much 
attention as he could spare in passing, but resembled 
Gerard as little as a stout, well-dyed, well-strapped, well- 
made-up elderly gentleman ever does resemble an able- 
bodied, athletic, weather-browned man in the prime of life. 
She scowled at him with bitter hatred totally uncalled for, 
and rather hard upon a stranger whose sole offence consisted 
in not being somebody else. 

Two or three more disappointments, two or three hats 
flourished by men who knew that shapely figure well enough 
to recognise it at a hundred paces off, and Norah, with a 
heavy heart, and a certain weariness of gesture habitual to 
her when she was unhappy, bent her steps towards the gate 
at which she expected to find her carriage, resolving that, 
at least for to-day, her chance was over. If in town, surely 
on so fine a morning he would have been riding in the Park. 
Where could he be gone ? The morning was not half so 
fine now. Well, she would post her letter, she thought, 
because she had told herself she would, and so drive sadly 
home, not to stir out again during the rest of the day. 


CHAPTEE XLIX 


DOUBLE ACROSTICS 

But Mrs. Vandeleur did not post her letter after all; certain 
unlooked-for circumstances, which will hereafter appear, 
having conspired to prevent this touching production ever 
reaching the hands for which it was intended. When the 
very box she meant to drop it into was cleared that morning, 
it disgorged a little note for Count Tourbillon, the delivery 
of which occasioned as much surprise as so imperturbable a 
gentleman was capable of feeling. It was short, couched 
in his own language, and written in a disguised hand, 
which might, as he told himself more than ■ once, be the 
subterfuge of a lady, a lady’s-maid, a bravo, a begging im- 
postor — parbleu ! even as assassin ! It simply prayed him 
to render himself at a certain spot in Kensington Gardens, 
as near twelve o’clock as he conveniently could, where a 
person would be awaiting him ; that person might easily be 
distinguished as holding the envelope of a letter in the left 
hand. The rendezvous, it must be well understood, was 
an affair, not of gallantry, but of business. It was to ask 
of the Count an important favour ; but one which neverthe- 
less it was impossible he could refuse. Finally, the matter 
in question had nothing to do with love or money, and affected 
him in no way personally ; therefore it implored him, as a 
true gentleman, not to disappoint the writer. 

Count Tourbillon propped his little missive against his 
looking-glass, and studied it throughout the whole of his 
morning-toilet, continuing his reflections during the con- 
sumption of at least half-a-dozen cigarettes. Finally, 
arming himself with the indispensable umbrella, he sallied 
forth, resolved to penetrate this mystery, of which the most 


372 


THE WHITE BOSE 


incomprehensible fold seemed to be that it depended in no 
way on his own attraction of appearance or conversation. 

Few men have a sufficiently clear account with con- 
science to receive an anonymous letter unhaunted by some 
shadowy misgivings that one of their old half-forgotten 
iniquities has overtaken them at last. Karo antece- 
dentem scelestum,” says Horace, as though he were 
actually quoting the Scriptural warning, “ Be sure your sin 
will find you out.*’ A long impunity makes men very bold, 
but even the most audacious cannot divest themselves of a 
vague, uncomfortable foreboding, that though the sky be 
stni bright, a cloud is even now behind the hill ; though 
they are yet untouched, the Avenger is even now bending 
his bow in the thicket, his shaft perhaps already singing 
and quivering through the calm air towards its mark. 

By preference, by temperament, by education, Tourbillon 
was “ tres-philosophe” a free-thinker, a doubter, a casuist, 
an esprit fort^ and a viveur. Turned loose at sixteen into 
high French society — the best school for manners, the 
worst for morals, in the world — he would have laughed 
to scorn any feeble-minded Mentor who should have pro- 
pounded to him the possibility that pleasure might not 
be the sumtimm honum of existence ; that on analysing the 
great desideratum^ the mood we are all aiming at — call it 
happiness, self-approval, repose, comfort, what you will — 
a certain property named “ duty ” might be found to con- 
stitute four-fifths of the wished-for whole, and that perhaps 
the honest health and strength of a bargeman or a coal- 
porter might fill up the remainder. Tourbillon, I say, 
would have scorned such a moralist as a well-meaning 
imbecile, and bade him take his trash elsewhere, with a 
little less than his usual cold suavity of deportment, 
because that the man within the man could not but feel 
chafed and irritated by the horse-hair garment of Truth, 
wearing through the velvet folds of Falsehood and Self- 
indulgence with which he was enwrapped. 

Few people owed a longer score for peccadilloes, vices, 
even crimes, than this pleasant, plausible Parisian ; that 
he had not the guilt of murder on his soul was owing to the 
merest accident. It was no fault of his, as he told himself 
sometimes without a shudder, that he did not shoot 


DOUBLE ACBOSTICS 


373 


Alphonse de Courcy through the head when they fought 
about a game of dominoes at Trieste, the Austrian officer 
who seconded him smoked as only Austrians can smoke, 
or his hand had been steadier than to shake those few extra 
grains of powder into the pistol, which caused it to throw 
an inch too high, and spoil De Com-cy’s hat instead of 
piercing that youth through the cavity in which he was 
supposed to keep his brains. Most of the other sins for- 
bidden by the Decalogue, I fear, Tourbillon had committed 
without scruple. Perhaps he never bore false witness : 
certainly never stole ; but, en revanche, all the rest of his 
duty towards his neighbour, and especially towards his 
neighbom’’s wife, had been neglected and perverted from 
the day he first entered a salon in kid gloves and a tail-coat. 

There are hundreds of such men about. Our own country 
is not without its share. People, good people, ask them 
to their houses, introduce them to their wives and daughters, 
shrug their shoulders when the antecedents of these guests 
are discussed, or obseiwe forbearingly, “ Wild, I fancy, 
formerly, and in one or two serious scrapes ; but all that 
was abroad, you know, and one is justified in ignoring it. 
Besides, such an agi-eeable, well-informed fellow, and a 
thorough man of the world.” 

There is a vast deal of charity, you see, amongst our 
fellow- creatm’es — both that which consists in the giving of 
alms, or rather dinners, to those who are not in need, and 
of that which covers or excuses a multitude of sins, pro- 
vided always the sinners be agreeable people of the stronger 
sex. Let a woman — the victim, we vdll say, of one of 
these pleasant diners-out — who has been led by her softer 
nature into the commission of a single fault, throw herself 
on the mercy of this same generous, allowance-making 
society, and she will find she might as well have thrown 
herself from the roof of a London house on the area railings 
in the street below. 

“Arthur! Arthur! is there no forgiveness?” gi’oaned 
remorseful Launcelot from the depths of his longing, way- 
ward, false, yet generous heart, while he sat in his mailed 
saddle, an unwilling rebel to the lord he had so cruelly- 
wronged, and still so dearly loved. Since that good knight 
— the flower of braveiy — repented him too late, how many 


374 


THE WHITE ROSE 


a tender voice has sent up the same despairing cry in vain ! 
how many a lonely sorrowing woman, eager hut to prove 
the sincerity of her repentance, has wailed in agony for 
forgiveness on earth, which will only he granted her in 
heaven ! 

Count Tourbillon, I need scarcely say, was the last 
person to distress himself either by regrets for the past 
or apprehension for the future. Swallowing a qualm or 
two, as certain visions of a hoy who knew no harm, walking 
at his mother’s side in the gardens of a chateau by the 
Garonne, rose to his mind’s eye, and reflecting that he was 
as well able to pull through a difficulty, and hold his own 
now, as he had ever been in his life, the Count amused 
himself by speculating on the approaching interview, won- 
dering of what nature a rendezvous could possibly be, in 
which the object was avowedly neither love nor war — an 
appointment made neither by an admirer nor an adversary. 
“It is droll,” said he. “ Let us reflect a little. My faith ! 
it is of those things which break the head to think about.” 

He broke his head thinking about it nevertheless, the 
whole way from Hyde Park Corner to the gate of Ken- 
sington Gardens. Each of the many faces he had loved 
and betrayed rose in succession to remind him of his vows, 
to reproach him with his perfidy, and, face by face, he dis- 
missed them all without a sigh of pity, a twinge of remorse. 
He had not even the grace to wish he could undo the past, 
nor to persuade himself he would act differently if he had 
his time to come over again. Once only, amongst a score 
of others who had made a deeper impression on his fancy, 
he thought of Fanny Ainslie ; hut it was with a smile of 
amusement as he recalled her vivacious gestures, her quick 
temper, and her broken French. 

Perhaps in all that phalanx of outraged beauty there 
might be one memory to avenge the cause of her injured 
sisters, one Donna Anna, that this French Giovanni could 
not quite forget, one lovely phantom to spoil his rest, like 
her who haunted the couch of false Sextus — 

“ A woman fair and stately, 

But pale as are the dead, 

Who through the watches of the night 
Sat spinning by his bed, 


DOUBLE ACE08TICS 


875 


“And as she plied the distaff, 

In a sweet voice and low, 

She sang of great old houses, 

And fights fought long ago. 

“ So span she, and so sang she. 

Until the East was grey. 

Then pointed to her bleeding heart. 
And shrieked, and fled away.” 


If SO, he stifled her as resolutely as Othello, and with far 
less compunction. He hade her go back to her place of 
torment with the others ; he could not attend to her now ; 
he had newer matters on hand. Here he was, already at 
Kensington Gardens, and not a soul in sight but a gate- 
keeper in a long green coat and a hat with a gold-lace band. 

It was a sweet May morning; nowhere sweeter and 
pleasanter than in grassy, shady, cockney Kensington 
Gardens. Being a first assignation, at least for aught he 
knew to the contrary, the Count was, therefore, a little 
before his time — just as he would have been for a duel. 
Also, as before a duel, he proceeded to wile away the 
interval by smoking a cigar, enjoying the warmth of the 
sunshine, the purity of the air, the freshness of the early 
verdm'e, as keenly as if he had been a combination of 
Wordsworth and Howard, poet and philanthropist. I 
cannot help thinking there are a certain proportion of 
men born without consciences at all. It is not that they 
commit sin ; all of us do that ; but their enormities seem 
to burden them neither with anxiety nor remorse. They 
do not fidget beforehand, they make no resolutions of 
amendment afterwards; they travel on the broad gauge, 
so to speak, in first-class carriages, with easy springs, 
cushioned seats, and a supreme indifference to their des- 
tination. They are more plentiful in France than in 
England, and Count Tourbillon was a very perfect 
specimen of the class. 

Smoking, then, in placid content under a young horse- 
chestnut, he watched with half-indulgent, half-cynical 
smiles, the usual business, amatory and otherwise, of 
this suburban resort, waking into its daily life. The first 
figure to intrude on his solitude was a foot-guardsman 
carrying a clothes-basketj followed by a dingy-looking 


376 


THE WHITE BOSE 


woman, talking, perhaps scolding, with considerable energy. 
The soldier plodded on inattentive, as one accustomed to 
the sounds. “ Husband and wife ! ” said the Count to his 
cigar, with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘‘My faith, how 
badly it seems always to arrange itself, even amongst the 
canaille. Hold, here is something more interesting ! ” 

A very pretty girl, with all the outward appliances of 
wealth, all those subdued graces of gestoe which seem only 
acquired by the constant habit of living in society, was 
walking by the side of an invalid-chair with the head up, 
and a man in livery pushing it behind. Her neat boots, 
her well-gloved hands, her golden chignon, her beads, her 
bracelets, her draperies, all were point device, and denoted 
not only birth and breeding, but enough of fashion to make 
the Count wonder he did not know her by sight. She bent 
over the chair so alfectionately, seemed so engrossed with 
its inmate, that Tourbillon felt positively interested, and 
moved several paces from his station for a nearer inspection 
of her companion ; probably, he told himself, some hand- 
some young lover disabled by a wound or an accident. 
Bah ! the young lover was an old lady of fourscore, in a 
close bonnet and tortoise-shell spectacles, with trembling 
hands in long-fingered gloves, and a poor, shaking, palsied 
head, that turned like the sunflower to the bright young 
beauty, who was, indeed, the light of its declining day. 

“There are illusions,” said the Count, replacing the 
cigar he had taken respectfully from his lips, “ and there 
must of consequence be disillusions to counteract them ! 
Such is the equipoise of existence. I wish my doubtful 
correspondent would appear with the envelope in his, her, 
its, left hand. It seems I am here in faction, with but a 
vague prospect of relief. Patience, ‘ a la guerre, comme 
a la guerre ! ’ ” 

Once more Tourbillon resigned himself to his vigil, which 
was getting rather wearisome, despite such interludes as a 
dripping water-dog shaking itself against his trousers, two 
little girls running their hoops simultaneously between his 
legs, and a petition from an incoherent slattern, apparently 
just out of an Asylum for Females of Weak Intellect, that 
he would be so good as to put her in the direct road to St. 
Pancras, He looked at his watch, It was scarcely twelve 


DOUBLE ACROSTICS 


Bll 


yet. He would make a little tour, lie thought, to kill time, 
and so return to the appointed spot. He walked half-a- 
dozen paces, rounded the huge smoke-blackened stem of a 
great elm-tree, and found himself, as he expressed it, ‘‘ nose 
to nose” with Mr. Egremont. A bystander, had there 
been one, must have detected that the meeting was ex- 
ceedingly mal-a-pi'opoSf they were so glad to see each 
other ! Dolly, blushing violently, shook the Count’s hand 
as if he were the dearest friend in the world. “ How was 
Tourbillon ? He had not met him for ages. What had he 
been about ? He had never thanked him enough for his 
kindness on a late occasion — and — had he been quite well 
since he saw him last? ” 

The Count looked amused. Here was, indeed, some- 
thing to kill time, not that he had any ill-nature about him, 
but that it was better fun to keep Dolly in a fidget than to 
smoke by himself till his correspondent arrived. That 
Dolly was in a fidget only became too obvious every 
moment. He glanced anxiously about, his colour went 
and came, he laughed nervously, and asked irrelevant 
questions without waiting for their answers. If the Count 
suspected the truth it was cruel thus to prolong the torture, 
but, like a fish unskilfully played, that at last, with one 
desperate eftbrt, snaps your line and makes off to sea, 
Dolly, catching a glimpse of a well-known parasol, sur- 
mounting a well-known figure, broke from his tormentor 
with the courage of despair. 

He had persuaded Miss Tregunter, not without difficulty, 
to take an early walk with him in these pleasant retreats. 
They were engaged, but their engagement had not yet been 
given out, so they agreed to be abroad early, before the 
gossiping public were about. It never entered the calcula- 
tions of either that they would meet such a worldly spirit 
as Tourbillon in their new-found paradise. 

A first tete-d-tete with the lady who has imposed on you 
a first pressure of her hand, a first avowal from her lips, 
and its ratification thereon, a first appointment to meet her, 
a first walk with her in Kew, Kensington, or any other 
garden of Eden, is a thing to enjoy while it lasts, to 
remember softly and kindly when it has passed away, but 
certainly not to be curtailed nor interrupted by an unsym- 


878 


THE WHITE BOSE 


pathising idler whom it requires only a little moral courage 
to shake off. Dolly, therefore, seeing the wished-for figure 
in the distance amongst the trees, looked his captor boldly 
in the face, masking any hashfulness he might feel with a 
certain quaintness of manner that was natural to him. 

‘‘I cannot stay now. Count, said he, “not another 
moment. But I often come here, and will meet you if you 
like at the same time to-morrow.” 

“ Ah ! you come often here,” repeated the Count, 
laughing. “So do not I. Tell me then, Monsieur 
Egremont, what do you find so attractive in such a 
solitaiy place?” 

“ I come here to make ‘ double acrostics ! ’ ” answered 
Dolly, unblushingly. “ They require undivided attention, 
and I can’t do them if I am disturbed.” 

Tourbillon clapped him on the shoulder, laughing heartily. 
“ Good ! ” said he, “ mon brave ! Success to your double 
acrostics. I shall not try to find out their answers. But, 
trust me, my friend, you will compose them all the better 
for a little assistance. Your English proverb says, you 
know, ‘two hearts, two heads,’ what is it? ‘are better 
than one ! ’ I make you my compliments, and I leave you 
to find out its truth.” 


CHAPTER L 


THE STAR OF THE WEST 

Tourbillon looked wistfully after the retreating couple as 
they disappeared amongst the trees. For a moment he 
could have envied Mr. Egremont and Miss Tregunter their 
open, above hoard, and avowed attachment. Only for a 
moment, soon reflecting that such matters were quite out 
of his line, that he was totally unfitted for the flat sameness 
of domestic life, that the only sort of woman, half devil, 
half coquette, who could hope to interest him now, was the 
last he would wish to place beside him in his home, and 
that he was actually here at this spot but in accordance 
with that evil spirit which made novelty, mystery, and 
intrigue the daily bread of his existence. 

A rather stout, showy-looking lady, dressed in black, 
came rapidly along the broad gravel walk, and when she 
approached the Count, disclosed, as if purposely, the 
envelope of a letter in her left hand. The Frenchman’s 
eye brightened, his languor vanished in an instant. The 
hawk in her swoop, the leopard in his lair, the wolf on the 
slot, every beast of prey wakes into energy when its quarry 
comes in sight. Tourbillon took his hat off without 
hesitation, and wished her “ Good morning,” as if he had 
known her all his life. 

“ Madame has been most gracious in according me this 
interview,” said he. ‘‘I have now to learn how I can he 
of service to Madame.” 

He tried hard to see her face, but a couple of black veils 
drawn tight, concealed the features as effectually as could 
any riding mask of the last century. His quick percep- 
tions, however, took in at once that her figure was remark- 

379 


380 


THE WHITE ROSE 


ably good, that she was exceedingly well-dressed, and that 
the jewellery, of which she wore a good deal, though very 
magnificent, was in perfect taste. 

Her handkerchief too, and this with a gentleman of 
Tourbillon’s experience counted for something, was trimmed 
with an edging of broad and delicate lace. 

“ A lady,” thought the Count, “ no doubt. Not quite a 
(jrancle daine, but still a person of position. Who can she 
be, and where can she have seen me before? ” 

He made no question, notwithstanding the protestations 
in her note, that this was a fresh conquest ; assuming, 
therefore, his pleasantest manner and his sweetest smile ; 
but the bright face clouded, the comely cheek turned white 
with the first tones of her voice, while she replied — 

‘‘ I know Count Tourbillon well. I think he cannot 
have forgotten me. I am sure he will not deny that I have 
a right to ask of him any favour I please.” 

He could only gasp out, “ Fanchon ! Madame Enslee ! 
Just Heaven ! And I thought you were dead ! ” 

“ It would have made little difference to you if I had 
been,” she answered, perfectly unmoved, but not without 
a touch of scorn. “It need make no difference to you 
now. Count, I did not come here to talk about yourself, 
but about somebody whose boots you were never fit to 
black. I speak pretty plain. I’ve come from the side of 
the water where people say what they mean, and give it 
mouth too.” 

“ You did not think so once,” he broke in angrily ; and 
then growing conscious that the position was false, even 
ridiculous, continued more temperately — “We all make 
mistakes, Madame. This is a world of mistakes. I 
cannot see that it is the interest of either to injure the 
other. Circumstances conspired against us, but my 
feelings towards you have ever remained the same.” 

“ I can easily believe it,” she answered bitterly. 
“ There was no love lost. Count, you may take your oath. 
I told you that, pretty smart, in the letter I left on my 
dressing-table at Milan. You used to laugh at my French, 
but you understood every word of those six lines. I’ll be 
bound. Short and sweet, wasn’t it? And what I said 
then I mean now,” 


THE STAE OF THE WEST 


381 


'‘Your French, like everything about you, was always 
charming,” he replied gallantly. “ Shall we sit down a 
little apart from the public walk ? Your appearance, 
Madame, is sufficiently attractive to command attention 
anywhere.” 

“I’m sure if I’m not ashamed of my company you 
needn’t he,” said the lady, moving to a less conspicuous 
spot, nevertheless, and lifting her double veil, that she 
might converse more freely. “ I’ve not much to say, and 
I shouldn’t care if the whole world saw you and me 
together ; but I don’t want to be overheard all the same.” 

Just the old petulant, wilful, off-hand manner, he thought ; 
the old self-scorn, the old want of tact, refinement, and 
good-breeding. Looking into her face, too, he could still 
recognise much of the bright, comely beauty that had so 
captivated his fancy for a few weeks many years ago. It 
was coarser now, indeed ; bolder, harder, and what people 
call overblown ; but, notwithstanding her life of change, 
sorrow, excitement, and adventure, the miller’s daughter 
was a handsome, striking-looking woman, even yet. 

You have already learned by Tourbillon’s exclamation of 
astonishment that it was no other than Fanny Draper, or 
rather Mrs. Ainslie, who thus sat by his side in Kensington 
Gardens, whom he had never seen since she left him in a 
fit of anger, disgust, and passionate repentance, some two 
months after her desertion of Gerard, and whose subse- 
quent career — extending over a good many years — ^would 
itself have filled a three-volume novel, rich in scrapes, 
situations, ups-and-downs, success, disappointment, and 
retribution. 

Thrown on her own resources when she quitted the 
Count at Milan, Fanny determined to return home at 
once and try her fortune on the English stage. It was 
a profession to which she was specially adapted by nature, 
and in which her mobility of feature and peculiar style of 
beauty afforded great advantages. She had not forgotten 
Mr. Bruff’s flattering estimate of her histrionic powers, 
nor the lessons he had given her in the humble country- 
town, to which she even now looked back as to her one 
glimpse of paradise on earth. She avoided Bipley, and 
never went near her father, but plunged hastily into 


382 


THE WHITE BOSE 


London, and, converting the few jewels she had brought 
with her into ready-money, got an engagement to dance in 
a minor theatre at eighteen shillings a week, and so put 
her foot on the lowest round of a ladder in which the top- 
most seemed hopelessly out of reach. It was the old 
story. Fanny Draper — or Miss Douglas as she called 
herself — ^was fortunate enough to hit that combination of 
three properties which alone ensure success; these are, 
confidence, ability, and opportunity. Of the two first she 
possessed more than her share, and the last she owed to 
the sudden illness of a dashing young lady with beautiful 
legs, who enacted the leading character in an extravaganza 
of which Fanny constituted a mere humble item in tights 
and spangles. Miss Douglas, on this fortunate occasion, 
advanced boldly to the rescue, accepted the part at an 
hour’s notice, and was recognised as a star by the infallible 
criticism of a crowded gallery the moment she came to the 
footlights. Her legs were quite equal to the absentee’s, 
her beauty infinitely superior, while her acting, as even the 
manager admitted, really was something like acting, and 
he increased her salary forthwith. She left him, neverthe- 
less, at the end of his season, for a far better engagement, 
and the following year saw her starring it in the country 
and making five or six pounds a week. A break then 
occurred in Miss Douglas’s career until she appeared again, 
as a Mrs. St. Germyn, at Liverpool, to take her benefe on 
the eve of a continental tour. Under different names she 
continued to perform at divers French theatres, in Russia, 
Prussia, and Austria, covering her deficiencies of accent 
and pronunciation with an espieglerie of manner that a 
foreign audience found irresistible, till, finally, being heard 
of as Madame Molinara, the great stage celebrity of New 
York, she was imported by indefatigable Dolly Egremont 
to retrieve a waning reputation and replenish an exhausted 
cash-box for his Accordion Theatre. 

Madame Molinara had not passed through so many 
vicissitudes without adding good store of experience to the 
mother- wit, of which she enjoyed her full share, and she 
certainly did not put too low a price upon her talents. 
After a correspondence that nearly drove Dolly wild in its 
progress, and a stormy passage across the Atlantic highly 


THE STAR OF THE WEST 


388 


conducive to health when it was over, behold the celebrated 
American actress, safely arrived in London, engaged at an 
exorbitant price to take the leading part in a melodrama 
written by the husband from whom she had been separated 
for more years than she liked to count. 

It is itself as good as a play,” said she, after detailing, 
in as few words as possible, the above information for the 
benefit of the attentive Count, who disappointed her, it 
must he admitted, by evincing so little surprise at the 
most startling points of her narrative. ** They do say. 
Truth is stranger than Fiction; I’m sure, in my case, 
Romance whips Reality. And now to think of my sitting 
alongside of you, under an English elm. Dear, dear! 
what beautiful elms there was used to stand in the park 
at Oakover ! Why, that loafer there with a spaniel dog 
might almost realise we were two lovers taking a spell of 
courting. Well, well 1 We’ve all been fools in our day ; 
hut live and learn is my motto ! And now. Count, what 
d’ye think made me wiite you that little note last night 
before I went to bed ? Ah I you wouldn’t guess from July 
to eternity. You’re as sly as a ’possum : I know that of 
old ; but I’ve fixed you there, I estimate. It’s not often 
you get a Frenchman up a tree in what you was used to 
call — excuse my laughing — to call an affair of the heart.” 

Tourhillon was at a nonplus. What could she be 
driving at, this hard, bold woman — with her hateful 
Americanisms and her loud, coarse mirth? He felt con- 
fused, puzzled, even a little ashamed, to be thus taken 
aback. As before an armed adversary he would have fallen 
**on guard” by instinct, so with a feminine foe he 
unconsciously assumed those tactics that came most 
natural to him in dealing with the gentler and subtler 
sex. He must make love to her, he thought, de rigueur ; 
must warm up the sentiments, never very palatable, that 
had stood cold so long, and compound the best dish he 
could of the hash. She expected it, of course, or why was 
she there? With a practised glance from his bright, 
black eyes, of which he knew the power as well as the 
most finished coquette who ever wore petticoats, he took 
his companion’s hand, and whispered softly — 

“You wrote to me, Fanchon. Yes, I call you Fanchon 


384 


THE WHITE EOSM 


to-day, as I have called you by that endearing name for 
years, in my sorrows, in my solitude, in my dreams. You 
sent for me because your heart, like mine, cannot quite 
forget. Because, like mine, it pines to resume once more 
the only true affection it has ever known. Because, in 
fine, we return after all our wanderings to our first attach- 
ments; and — and — though you would not trast your 
address to the chances of a letter, you will confide it to 
me now, and we shall speedily meet again.” 

She laughed once more ; heartily this time, and with 
such real enjoyment as convinced even Tourbillon’s 
vanity, that whatever motives led her to seek this inter- 
view, affection for himself had nothing to do with them. 

“You whip creation, Count ! ” she said, wiping her 
eyes with the richly-laced handkerchief. “ You do, 
indeed ! Such cheek as yours was never so much as 
heard of out of Paris. You carry on with so good a 
face, too. Solemn enough to stop a clock ! They spoiled 
a second Liston when they made you an attache, or an 
ambassador, or whatever you are. I don’t know whether 
you’ve done well in your own profession, but I’m availed 
you’d get along considerable in mine. Now if you’ll 
stow all that gammon and speak common sense for three 
minutes, I’ll tell you my mind right away, and then make 
tracks. That ugly chap in a gold-laced hat has been 
looking our way till I’m tired of him. Listen, Count. 
This is something to your advantage.” 

“ You were always heartless,” replied Tourbillon, in 
perfect good humom\ “It’s my misfortune. Speak, 
Madame, I am all attention.” 

“Now that’s business,” said the lady approvingly. “ I 
suppose. Monsieur, you won’t deny that I know two or 
three things you’d just as soon I kept to myself.” 

He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, but with an 
affirmative gesture. 

“Very well,” she continued. “Now if you’ll keep my 
secrets. I’ll keep yom-s. Is it a bargain ? ” 

“ Honour ! ” said the Count with a smile. 

“Honour!” she repeated. “Ah! but is it honour as 
if I were a man and could call you to account? No. 
Don’t get riled. I’m aware you’d make no bones about 


THE STAB OF THE WEST 38 r> 

that! But is it honour such as you would pledge to 
another gentleman’* (she put a bitter emphasis on the 
word) “like yourself?” 

“ Honour, Madame ! ” he answered gi’avely, “as between 
man and man. On both sides 1 ” 

She seemed satisfied. 

“Then to such honom* I trust,” said she, “that you 
will not betray me. That you will never recognise nor 
salute me in public, never divulge in private that the 
Madame Molinara of the play-bills owns a legal right to 
but one of all the names she has been called by, and that 
name she disgraced, not for your sake, you needn’t think 
it 1 but because — well, never mind why. Perhaps because 
she had a wild, fierce temper and a loving heart I You 
may sneer. Count, you often used, I remember ; but I tell 
you, there is but one man in the world I’d walk fifty yards 
to serve, and that man was once my husband. Once ! — 
he*s my husband still. Let me see who dare dispute it I 
But I’ll never stand in his way, poor Gerard ; I’ll never be 
a clog and a blot, and a disgrace to him. If he fancies 
I’m dead and gone, perhaps he’ll think kindly of me now 
and then, who knows ? We didn’t hit it off so bad together 
just at first. It seems queer enough to remember it all 
now. Don’t be afraid. Count, I’m not going to cry, but I 
can’t keep fr*om laughing. It’s enough to make a cat 
laugh. Madame Molinara don’t sound much like Fanny 
Draper, does it ? Nor I don’t look much like her neither 
— do I? There’s but two people left in England I’m 
afraid of now that poor father’s dead and gone, and me 
never to have seen him ! But two in all England, Count, 
and you’re one of them.” 

Tourbillon bowed, as accepting a compliment, adding — 

“ And Monsieur Ainslie, without doubt, is the other? ” 
“Gerard!” she exclaimed, with anotW laugh, which 
stifled something like a sob. “ Not he ! Not if he was 
coming up the walk here, this instant. And dressed for 
the stage, bless you ! Why he wouldn’t know me from his 
grandmother. No, I can keep out of the other’s way. 
She and I are little likely to meet in this great crowded 
town ; but I own I was afraid of you. I remembered your 
ways of old. I knew that if you heard of a fresh face, be 


386 


THE WHITE ROSE 


she princess, actress, or chimney-sweep, you’d never rest 
till you’d seen her, and found out all about her, and made 
love to her, maybe, as you always do. That’s why I’ve 
asked you to meet me here. That’s why I’ve asked you to 
promise you will never let Mr. Ainslie nor anybody else 
know I’m alive and in England. Now, Count, can I 
depend upon you?” 

‘^It is a bargain,” said Tourbillon, impressively; *‘on 
one side as on the other ! ” 

“ Done ! ” she answered, shaking hands as if to ratify the 
compact, while she wished him good-bye. “ I shall perhaps 
have one more look at him now. He’ll never be the wiser. 
Of the other I have no fear — no fear. She’s a real lady, 
and I — ^well, I’m an actress. Nothing better. I thank 
you, Tourbillon ; I do, indeed. Good luck to you ! From 
my heart I wish you well ! ” 

So she walked out of the garden, staring superciliously 
on the unoffending guardian of the gate, while the Count, 
selecting his largest cigar, proceeded to light it thoughtfully 
and methodically, looking after his late companion with an 
air of whimsical consternation on his expressive countenance 
that language is powerless to describe. 


CHAPTER LI 


FAIS CE QUE DOIS ” 

Madame Molinara, or Fanny, as we may again call her, 
had confessed to the Count that, besides himself, there was 
but one person in London from whom she feared recognition, 
but one whom she dreaded to meet. Her feminine instincts 
warned her that if she should chance to come face to face 
with Mrs. Vandeleur, all attempt at further concealment 
would be in vain. The spirit of rivalry between women is 
far keener, subtler, more enduring than with men. The 
miller’s daughter had loved Gerard Ainslie as dearly as it 
was in such a nature to love any human being, and was 
ready to prove her affection by voluntarily relinquishing 
every claim on her husband. She felt she could never 
make him happy ; felt it now just as surely, though not so 
bitterly, as in the first days of their married life. She had 
resolved, and in such a woman there was no small self- 
sacrifice in the resolution, that she would be contented but 
to hear that he was beloved by somebody more worthy of 
him. That should he choose to believe her dead (remember, 
Fanny’s standard of morality was only in accordance with 
her education and her subsequent career), she would never 
undeceive him ; trying to rejoice from her heart if she 
learned he was married to another — just as she had rejoiced 
when she read in the English newspapers of his succession 
to wealth that she never dreamed of asking him to share. 
To be sure her profession brought her in more money than 
she could spend; but had she been penniless, she felt it 
would have made no difference. With all her faults she 
was, in some respects, a thorough woman : in none more 


388 


THE WHITE BOSE 


so than in certain overstrained sentiments of false pride 
and real generosity. True, she could have approved of 
Gerard’s marriage to any other on earth rather than to 
Mrs. Vandeleur. Thousands of miles off a pang smote 
her when she saw in the Times how that lady had at 
last become a widow. But while her heart insisted Gerard 
would never care for anybody but Norah, her head reasoned 
more coldly and rationally, that few attachments were 
rooted deep enough to withstand such contrary blasts 
as had swept over the White Rose, to out-live so long 
a frost as must have chilled and pierced her to the core. 
“No,” she told herself, walking hastily homeward through 
the Park. “ If they had been going to make a match of it 
they would have settled matters months ago. John Van- 
deleur’s been dead long enough, in all conscience. My! 
what a wicked one he was 1 I wonder what’s gone with 
him now 1 Well, it’s no use bothering about that 1 I dare 
say Miss Norah’s pretty much altered, too, by this time. I 
know I am, though the Yankees didn’t seem to think there 
was a deal amiss with my outside neither ! What will 
happen to my Gerard is this. Some young lady of title 
will fall in love with him, and they’ll be married with two 
parsons and a dozen of bridesmaids, and I’ll put on a thick 
veil and go up in the gallery to see it done. Suppose she 
don’t suit him after all. That won’t do at any price. No, 
we’ll fix it different for his sake, though it’s as bad as 
bitters to swallow down. If he must have the woman 
he set his foolish boy’s heart on, why he shall. I’ll give 
him up to her, I will. ’Specially if she’s gone off in her 
looks ! I shall never know it though. I mustn’t meet 
her. It’s my business to keep out of her way if I go 
barefoot a hundi-ed miles. Jerusalem! If this isn’t Miss 
Welby herself I ” 

Fanny had, indeed, bounced into the very arms of a lady 
making for a brougham waiting some twenty paces off, in the 
carriage-drive, whom she knew at once for Mrs. Vandeleur, 
and whom, in the confusion of the moment, she called out 
loud by her maiden-name. The recognition was instan- 
taneous and mutual. Norah, turning as white as a sheet, 
felt ready to drop. With both hands she clung to the 
railing that guarded the footway, and strove to frame some 


^^FAIS CF QUE DOTS 


389 


commonplace words of greeting and surprise. In vain, for 
not a syllable would come. 

^ Fanny recovered her senses first; more accustomed to 
situations of perplexity, she had acquired the useful habit 
of taking the bull by the horns, and she saw with a glance 
that the present was no time for deception or concealment. 
Acting always on impulse, it was her impulse at this 
moment to be frank, generous, and out-spoken. She, 
the woman who had right and power on her side, threw 
herself without hesitation on the mercy of the other. 

** Miss Norah ! ” said she. ^^Miss Welby — I beg your 
pardon, Mrs. Vandeleur. It’s too late ; you knew me ; I 
saw you did. You was always a good friend to me and 
mine long ago. Be a good friend still. Will you keep my 
secret and his ? ” 

“Your secret! His I ” gasped Norah, still holding on 
to the rails. Fanny — Mrs. Ainslie — what do you mean ? ” 

The other had quite recovered her coolness now. 

“ Is that your carriage, ma’am ? ” said she, pointing to 
the brougham, with its two servants assiduously preparing 
for their mistress. “ Will you give me a hft ? I’ve some- 
thing to say that can’t be said out here amongst all these 
people. Oh ! you needn’t be afraid I I keep a carriage of 
my own now I ” 

This was unjust, for Mrs. Yandeleiu’, though she had 
not yet recovered her voice, expressed in dumb show 
exceeding goodwill thus to remove their unexpected inter- 
view from public gaze, but Fanny was prepared to be 
unjust, because with the one comprehensive glance that 
took in the other’s features, complexion, bonnet, ear-rings, 
gloves, dress and deportment, the uncomfortable truth 
obtruded itself, that never even in her bright young days 
long ago, had the White Bose, spite of anxiety and agita- 
tion, looked more queenly, more delicate, more beautiful, 
than at that moment. 

It was a hard task Madame Molinara had set herself, 
but she resolved to go through it, reflecting with something 
of bitter sarcasm that, had she known beforehand her rival’s 
beauty remained so untarnished, she would never have 
drifted into the false position that bade her do an act of 
generosity against her will. 


390 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Not till the door of the carriage was hanged to, and the 
direction given for Fanny’s residence, did Mrs. Vandeleur 
find her voice. It came at last, very weak and tremulous, — 

‘‘ I was so startled just now, I could not tell you, but I 
am glad to see you again, Fanny. Indeed I am.” 

“ That’s nonsense,” answered Fanny, with good- 
humoured abruptness. “ You oughtn’t to be. You ought 
to hate me. You do. Just as I used to hate you. But 
you won’t hate me any longer when I’ve told you all I want 
to say. What a noise these small broughams make, to be 
sure. One can’t hear oneself speak. I suppose it’s being 
so near the wheels.” 

Mrs. Vandeleur could hardly help smiling at this display 
of a fastidious taste in carriages from the miller’s daughter. 
Perhaps the other made the remark on purpose, intending 
thereby to place them both on a more common-place and 
more equal footing ; perhaps only with the nervous desire 
natural to us all, of putting off, if for ever so few seconds, 
the fatal word or deed that must henceforth be irrevocable, 
irretrievable. There was silence for a few seconds between 
the two women, while each scanning the other’s exterior, 
wondered what Gerard could see to excuse his infatuation, 
hut with this difference, that Mrs. Vandeleur marvelled 
honestly and from her heart, whereas the actress forced 
herself to stifle the conviction of her own inferiority in all, 
except mere physical attraction, that fascinated mankind. 
She broke it abruptly, and with an effort. “ Miss Norah,” 
said she, “ Mrs, Vandeleur, do you think as bad people can 
ever he happy ? Not if they’re ever so prosperous ! Don’t 
believe it. I’ve been wicked enough myself, and now I’m 
so miserable — so miserable ! ” Her voice came thick and 
dry, while the lines that denote mental suffering deepened 
and hardened round her mouth. The comely face looked 
ten years older than when it smiled mockingly on Tourbillon 
half-an-hour ago. 

Norah took her hand. “Nobody is too wicked,” said 
she, gently, “ to repent, and to make amends.” 

“ Eepent ! ” echoed Fanny, almost in tones of anger ; “ I 
can’t repent, I tell you. I’d do just the same if it was to 
come over again. But I can make amends, and I will too. 
Oh, Mrs. Vandeleur; you’ll hate me, you’ll despise me, 


FAIS GE QUE DOIS' 


391 


you’ll never forgive me when you know all ! No more you 
ought not. I’ll never forgive myself. And yet I’m not 
sorry for it really in my heart. I’m not. You cannot 
understand how I was tempted. You’d been used to 
gentlefolks all your life. To you, he was just one amongst 
a lot of others. But to me, he seemed like an angel out of 
heaven. Ay, the first time as ever I set eyes on him, 
walking through the fields, and watching of the May-fly 
on poor old Kipley-water, I loved him so — I loved him so! ” 

“ Loved him ! ” thought Norah, “ and yet she could 
leave him for years, when she had a right to he near him. 
Ah ! if I’d been in her place, I’d have followed my darling 
through the wide world, whether he liked it or not.” But 
she felt that, after all, this woman was his wedded wife, 
while she — well, she had no right to speak, so she held her 
peace. 

Then I determined,” continued Fanny, in a set, firm 
voice. “ Yes, I swore that, come what might, I’d have him, 
if I died for it. I wasn’t a good girl like you. Miss Norah. I 
wasn’t brought up to be a good girl, though poor old daddy 
he was always the kindest of fathers to me. And I hadn’t 
set foot in England two days afore I was down at Eipley, 
and through the orchard like a lapwing, making no doubt 
as I should find him with his arm over the half-door, and 
his dear old face, that’s in heaven now, smiling through 
the flour, so pleased to see his little Fan. I ain’t going to 
cry, Mrs. Vandeleur. Well, when I came round in front, 
the place was all shut up and hoarded in. The garden-plot 
was choked in nettles, the box had grown as high as my 
knees, the mill-wheel was stopped, and the sluice dry. I 
cried then, I did, for I knew I should never see him no 
more. It’s a quiet little place they’ve buried him in. Close 
by mother, in a corner of Ripley churchyard. Oh, Mrs. 
Vandeleur ! d’ye think he could have died without knowing 
as his little Fan would have given her two eyes to be at his 
bed-head only for a minute ? I can’t bear to think of it. 
I won’t ! I can’t I I ain’t going to cry. I ain’t going 
to cry.” 

But she did cry, heartily, bursting into a passion of tears, 
as violent as it was soon over, while Mrs. Vandeleur, 
woman-like, wept a little, no doubt, for company. 


392 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“You’ve a good heart, you have,” resumed the miller’s 
daughter, “ and that’s why I’m so sorry and so resolute. 
Look here, Mrs. Vandeleur; I stole away the man you 
loved, and — yes, I will say it out — as loved you, and made 
him my husband. There was others in the business, far 
more to blame than me. Others as stuck at nothing to 
get what they wanted, be it good or bad ; but that’s all 
past and gone now. Well, I know if right had been right, 
you should have had my Gerard (Norah winced and shrank 
back into her corner of the carriage), and you shall have 
him yet. Kepent and make amends, says you. I can’t 
repent, but I can make amends. Nobody but yourself and 
one other knows I’m in England, or even alive. I’ll engage 
that one doesn’t let the cat out of the bag. Besides, I’ve 
heard say that if a woman keeps seven years away from 
her husband, she’s as good as dead to him in law, and he 
can marry again. You two might be very happy together. 
I don’t want to see it ; but I can bear to know it, if it’s my 
own doing. There, I’ve said my say, and here we are turn- 
ing into Berners Street.” 

“Impossible! ” exclaimed Norah, struggling fiercely, as 
it were, with the evil spirit that was tempting her, radiant 
and seductive as an angel of light. “ Impossible, Fanny ! 
You mean kindly, generously, no doubt. But your mar- 
riage to — to Mr. Alnslie is lawful and binding so long as 
you both live. Nothing on earth can undo it. Besides, 
think of the scandal — the shame — the sin ! ” 

“ Oh, I don’t go in for all that,” answered Fanny, a little 
relieved, it may be, in her secret heart, by the rejection of 
her handsome ofier. “ I’ve got other things to think of. I 
can’t sit with my hands before me, w^orking it backwards 
and forwards like you ladies do. I’ve my own bread to 
make, you see, and very good bread it is, I can tell you. 
Why, I’ve a part to study now, this very afternoon. And 
father isn’t hardly cold in his grave,” she added, with a 
strange, ghastly smile. 

“Apart to study! ” repeated Norah. “Oh, Fanny — 
you never will — you never can ! ” 

“ Folks must live,” answered the other, with the hard 
bold expression that had varied so often during their drive, 
settling over her face once more. 


FAIS CE QUE LOIS 


396 


They had now reached Madame Molinara’s door in 
Berners Street, and the brougham came to a stop. 

‘‘ Fanny ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Vandelem’, “ you mean to do 
right. You want to be better. We are both very miser- 
able. I — I have more than I need of this world’s wealth. 
Share it with me. Leave the stage, and try to lead a 
different life. It is better, after all, to be good, than 
famous, admired, successful — even happy.” 

‘‘ I should go mad ! ” answered the other, wildly. I 
should go thinking, thinking, thinking, till I was out of my 
mind. Nothing but the constant excitement keeps me in 
my senses. Come and see me act. Promise ; I shall feel 
a better woman. Mrs. Vandeleur, you are an angel ! If I 
dared, I would say ‘ God bless you ! ’ ” 

She seized the corner of Norah’s shawl, pressed it 
passionately once, twice, to her lips, darted from the 
carriage, and drawing both veils over her face, hurried 
across the street to disappear within her own door. 

Home ! ” said the White Rose, leaning back in 
solitude, and realising, for the first time, her utter 
desolation — the bitter loneliness of her lot, the cruel 
mockery of a life, rich in empty appliances of outward 
show, but deprived of sympathy, debarred from happiness, 
and devoid of hope. 


CHAPTER LH 

“advienne ce que poubra’* 

It is a well-known truth, borne out by the moral and 
physical experience of every sufferer, that the severity of a 
wound or blow is not thoroughly appreciated till its 
immediate effects have passed away. A man breaks his 
collar-bone hunting, receives a sabre cut, or even loses a 
limb, in action, and, for a while, beyond a certain numbness 
and confusion, is scarcely aware that he has been hurt. So 
is it with a great sorrow. There is, first of all, an instinc- 
tive effort at resistance, not without something of the hard, 
stern joy brave spirits feel in every phase of strife, followed 
by a dead sensation of stupefaction and bewilderment, the 
lull, as it were, before the storm ; then, after a dark, 
strange, ghastly interval, a smarting pain, a piercing agony, 
the real punishment which wrings those most severely who 
clench their teeth, and knit their brows, and scorn to wince, 
or shrink, or cry aloud beneath the torture. 

Norah looked very pale and stern when she walked into 
her own house ; but she had quite made up her mind what 
she was going to do. With her head up, and a proud, 
resolute step, like some priestess of old, prepared to officiate 
at the sacrifice, she marched into her drawing-room — that 
room in which every article of furniture, every ornament 
and knick-knack, was now more or less associated with his 
presence, and proceeded to ransack a little drawer in her 
writing-table, sacred to certain relics that had somehow 
connected themselves with Mr. Ainslie. These treasiu’es 

394 


ADVIENNE GE QUE POUBEA 


395 


were but few in number, and, to judge by appearance, of 
small intrinsic value ; yet what a life’s history they 
represented ; what a wealth of affection, anxiety, longing, 
folly, and regi’et had been lavished on those poor, desultory, 
unconscious trifles ! There lay the book he had given her 
long ago, in the days of annuals and keepsakes at Marston 
Eectory. A gaudy little volume, bound in much-frayed red 
and gold. Its contents, I am bound to admit, were of the 
trashiest and most nonsensical character. An engraving of 
an impossible woman in drooping ringlets, with an 
enormous straw hat, adorned the frontispiece, and to this 
deity such touching lines as the following, separated by a 
sheet of silver paper from their object, were addressed in 
ostentatious type : — 

“ Lady, I look and wonder at thy face, 

Its perfect lineaments, its haughty grace ; 

The fair pale brow, the calm and classic smile, 

The deep dark eyes, that brighten and beguile.” 

And so on, through some fifty verses, scored along the 
margin by a black-lead pencil, doubtless young Gerard’s 
handiwork during intervals of deeper study at Mr. Archer’s, 
and intended to convey his favourable criticism of the 
poetry, his entire concurrence in its tone of adoration, as 
applied to the young lady for whom he brought such works 
across the Marshes in his pocket. Ah, those well- 
remembered Marshes ! She could see them now, with 
their wide, straight ditches gleaming in the summer sun, as 
she drove her ponies merrily across the level, looking here 
and there for the light, graceful figiu’e that seldom dis- 
appointed her. Could it have been so long ago ? and was 
it all over — all over now ? She pushed the book back into 
its drawer, and for a moment felt she had neither strength 
nor courage to make an end of her task, but, calling to 
mind the late interview with Fanny, nerved herself once 
more for her trial, and put this keepsake aside, to pack 
up with the rest. She had preserved it through her 
whole married life, and his, but to-day it must go once for 
all. 

There was a dried flower, too, of what kind, in its then 
state of atrophy, it would have puzzled a botanist to decide ; 


396 


TBB WHITE BOSE 


but Grerard had worn it in his coat that time when she saw 
him again after all those years of absence. Somehow it 
got detached, and had fallen out. She picked it off the 
carpet when he went away, and for a little kept it in a very 
warm place, which might account perhaps for its being so 
completely withered, before she hid it up with the other 
things in their drawer. Must that go too ? Well, it was 
better it should ; if she spared one, she might spare all, 
and right was right. She must not even think of Mrs. 
Ainslie’s lawful husband any more ! 

Here was a note — a note in the dear familiar hand. It 
began formally enough, and might, indeed, have been 
published word for word in the Times newspaper, contain- 
ing as it did a veiy practical intimation that the writer had 
secured stalls for herself and Miss Tregunter at the French 
play. How well she remembered the vouchers coming 
from Mitchell’s in their envelope, and the glee with which 
she put them in the fire ! They didn’t go near the French 
play after all. Not one of them cared in their hearts if 
they never entered a theatre again. No ; far better than 
that, they all dined at deaf, kind old Lady Baker’s. Her- 
self, and Somebody, and Jane, and Dolly Egi’emont, with a 
couple of pleasant guardsmen, not particularly in love, to do 
the talking. Somebody took her down to dinner, and 
there was music afterwards, under cover of which certain 
whispers, meaning more than they expressed, passed 
unnoticed. Then, when it was time to go away. Somebody 
put her into her carriage, retaining, as his guerdon, the 
flower she had worn all the evening in her bosom, and 
pressed it fondly to his lips (she saw him by the light of 
her own carriage-lamps) as she drove away. Altogether it 
was an evening out of Paradise, and now there were to be 
no more of them. No more — no more. 

The poor withered flower was drafted accordingly, to 
accompany the other discarded mementoes of an afection 
that should have been broken off long ago, if it was to be 
destroyed at all. You may tear up a sapling with your 
hand, and mother earth, dame nature, whatever you please 
to call her, covers the gap over so effectually in six months, 
you would never guess she had sustained the slightest 
abrasion. But let your young tree grow for a few seasons. 


'^ABVIENNE CE QUE POUBRA" 


897 


expanding to the sunshine, drinking in the rain, drawing 
sustenance and vitality from the very atmosphere, you must 
use cord, and lever, and grappling-ii’on, if you would dis- 
place it now. It is a question of strength, I admit, and 
you may root it up by main force like the other ; but how 
long will it be before the grass grows over the place again ? 
It must remain seamed, scarred, bare, and barren for the 
best part of a life-time. 

There 'svas scarcely anything more to put away. A card 
he left with a few lines in pencil, expressing disappoint- 
ment not to find her at home. A quill he had stripped of 
its feather clumsily enough, sitting in the veiy chair yonder 
by the window, while he laid his ground plan several feet 
above the surface, for one of those “ castles in the air ” 
he was never tired of building and furnishing to make a 
future habitation. Alas ! she must not hope to enter 
it now. Perhaps, and the tears hung thick upon her eye- 
lashes, she might occupy it with him hereafter, as one 
of the many mansions promised to the houseless ones in 
heaven. 

The drawer was nearly empty. Nothing remained but a 
showy dog-collar of red morocco leather, with a little silver 
bell attached. Talking nonsense as women will sometimes, 
and men too, when they are very happy, she had once 
threatened to have a watch-dog for her drawing-room, 
weighing perhaps three pounds and a half, the smallest she 
boasted that could be got in London. Of course Gerard 
went in quest of such a toy the following morning, but 
pending his difficulties in procuring anything so small as 
she desired, zealously effected so much of his task as con- 
sisted in purchasing a collar and sending it home forthwith. 
To Bill George, and other gentlemen of the Fancy in the 
same line, the period that had since elapsed afforded but a 
short space for their requisite inquiries and negotiations. 
Alas ! that it seemed as if years had passed away in the 
interim to the White Rose ! 

By what process of feminine reasoning she arrived at her 
conclusion, it is not for me to explain, but though she dis- 
carded the collar, Norah felt herself justified in retaining 
the bell. This morsel of silver she fastened carefully to 
her watch-chain, then heaping the rest of the spoil together, 


398 


THE WHITE BOSE 


packed it up very neatly, stuck half-a-dozen stamps on it, 
addressed the whole to Gerard Ainslie, Esq., in a firmer 
hand than common, and so sat down to cry. Do not judge 
her harshly. She was trying to do right, you see, and we 
all know, at least all who have ever turned their faces 
resolutely to the task, how steep and rugged is the upward 
path, how sharp its flints, how merciless its thorns, how 
grim and grey and desolate frowns that ridge of granite, to 
attain which all these efforts must be made, all these 
sufferings endured. It is not easy to be good. Never 
believe it, or why should Virtue win at last so lavish, so 
priceless a reward ! Excelsior ! Eight on, fight upwards : 
though heart sink, limbs fail, brain reel, and eyes be 
dimmed with tears of anguish, fight doggedly on ! From 
that stern grey ridge you shall see the promised land, the 
golden mountains, and the narrow path, growing easier 
every step, that leads across the valley direct to the gates 
of heaven. 

A woman is very much in earnest when she forgets her 
luncheon. Robert Smart, who considered himself essen- 
tially Mrs. Vandeleur’s footman, and looked on his fellow- 
servant in the same livery as a mere rear-rank man, a sort 
of make-weight and set-off to his own gorgeous presence, 
was accustomed at this period of the day, as indeed at 
many others, when he could find excuse, to ring a handbell 
with exceeding perseverance and energy. He seemed to 
think it becoming that next door neighbours on both sides 
and as much as possible of the street, should he advised 
whenever his mistress was about to partake of solid refresh- 
ment. On the present occasion, having laid his table 
gravely and decorously as usual, he applied himself with 
vigour to the luncheon bell, and felt a little surprised to find 
that summons unattended by its usual result. 

Robert, whose general appearance was of a kind much 
appreciated below stairs, affected the best of terms with the 
cook. That worthy woman, “ keeping company,” as she 
expressed it, with nobody in particular at the time, regarded 
him with sufficient approval. His attractions came out, 
indeed, in shining contrast with a baker whom she had 
lately jilted, and a desirable greengrocer whose attentions 
she already perceived looming in the distance. 


^^ADVIENNE CE QUE POUBEA'' 


399 


Such a state of affairs was peculiarly favourable to 
domestic criticism on “ the missis,” her sperrits,” her 
“tantrums,” her loss of appetite, and her “followers.” 

The hell had been rung more than ten minutes, and still 
no opening of doors, no rustle of draperies on the staircase, 
announced that Mrs. Vandeleur had gone down to luncheon. 
The cutlets would be cold, the grill uneatable, the new 
potatoes steamed to a consistency like soap. Already a 
“ souffle to follow ” was at the very bubble of perfection. 
The cook lost patience. “Bob,” she screamed from the 
foot of her kitchen stairs, “whatever are you about up 
there, and why don’t you bring down the first course ? ” 

“ Bob,” as she called him, was tugging at his wristbands 
in the dining-room, but responded forthwith. 

“ She’ve never come to lunch at all,” said he, looking 
disgusted at such transparent want of common-sense. 
“ She’ve not been above-stairs, or I must have heard her 
go. She’ve never left the drawing-room, and the things is 
all getting cold, and the carriage ordered at three to a 
moment. 

The cook prided herself on an uncomplimentary abrupt- 
ness, calling it “ speaking her mind.” 

“Well,” she replied, “you great gaby, why don’t you 
ring the luncheon-bell again? If that didn’t fetch her 
down, I’d go bold into the drawing-room and tell her my- 
self, if it was me.” 

“ No you wouldn’t,” replied Mr. Smart, from the top 
step of the kitchen stairs. “ She’ve given orders not to be 
disturbed in that there room. I wouldn’t go in for nine- 
pence, not without I’d a reasonable excuse.” 

“ Bother her orders ! ” replied the cook, insubordinate as 
it were ex officio ; “ she could but blow up like another.” 

“ Missis never blows up,” answered Kobert, “ I wish she 
would, but she’ve a way of looking at a chap when she 
ain’t best pleased, as if he was the dirt beneath her feet. 
I don’t like it, I tell ye, I ain’t used to it.” 

“ Ah, you’ve been spoilt, you have ! ” observed the cook, 
casting an anxious glance towards the kitchen and the 
souffiL 

“ ’Specially by the women-folk,” retorted Mr. Smart, 
with his best air. 


400 


THE WHITE BOSE 


“ Get along with ye,” laughed the other, retiring leisurely 
to the glowing recesses of her own dominions. 

Fortunately for Eohert’s peace of mind a ring at the 
door-bell, and delivery of a note by the postman, furnished 
sufficient excuse for intrusion in the drawing-room. He 
returned from that apartment wearing a face of considerable 
importance, and proceeded to afford his fellow-servant the 
benefit of his experience. 

There’s something up,” observed he, with an air of 
great sagacity. “ It’s no wonder the luncheon’s been left 
to get cold. There’s Missis walking about the drawing- 
room taking on awful. I handed the note on a waiter as 
usual, and she stood looking out-a-winder, and never turned 
round to take it nor nothing. ‘ Thank you, James,’ says 
she, for she didn’t even know my step from his’n, ‘ put it 
down on the writing-table.’ ‘ Luncheon’s ready. Ma’am,’ 
says I. ‘ I don’t want no luncheon,’ says she, but I could 
teU by her voice she’d been cryin’, cryin’ fit to bust herself. 
I wish I knowed wot it was ; I can’t a-hear to see her so 
down for nothin’. It’s a bad job, you may depend. I wish 
it mayn’t be a death in the family.” 

“ I wish it mayn’t he ‘ old Van ’ come hack again,” re- 
torted the cook, who was of a less impressionable, and, 
indeed, more scoffing disposition. She wouldn’t like to 
be a widow bewitched, I know ! ” 

“ It’s a bad job,” repeated Mr. Smart, feeling, to do him 
justice, somewhat concerned for the obvious distress of the 
lady whose bread he ate — five times a day. 

The cook laughed. '' Look ye here,” said she. I can 
see into a mill-stone as far as another. That chap with a 
brown heard hasn’t been in our house for a fortnight, has 
he now ? Nor he hasn’t left his card neither, for I’ve been 
and looked in the basket myself every day. I mean hiin as 
was away foreign for so long. Well, they do say as he 
kept company with Missis afore she was married, or any- 
thing, and that’s what brought him here day after day, at 
all hours, whether or no. And now he never comes near 
her, nor nothing. Don’t you see, you great stupe ? She’ve 
been and lost her young man. That’s why she takes on ! 
Don’t you trouble — she’ll soon get another. Dear, 
dear — you men ! what a thick-headed lot you are ! 


^^ADVIENNE CE QUE POUBBA'' 401 

And there’s my stock draining away to rubbish all the 
while ! ” 

So you see that Norah’s distresses, however touching and 
highflown they may have appeared to herself, were sus- 
ceptible of a broader, lower, more common-place view, when 
thus subjected to the impartial comments and criticism of 
her own servants in her own house. 


26 


CHAPTER LIII 


HUNTING HER DOWN 

Mrs. Vandbleur dried her tears, and read the note 
humbly enough. She knew the handwriting to be Burton’s, 
and at another time would have accepted such a communi- 
cation with something of impatience, if not scorn. It was 
her worst symptom, she thought, that she should feel too 
weary and wretched to-day to be angry with anything. 
Though rather a crafty production, and though her thoughts 
wandered so heedlessly to other matters, that it was not 
till the second perusal she gathered its real meaning and 
object, there was nothing in the following appeal to her 
ovm sense of justice which did not seem perfectly fair and 
above-board. 

“ Dear Mrs. Vandeleur, 

“Under existing circumstances, and after our un- 
fortunate misunderstanding, you will be surprised to see 
my signature to a note, or rather a letter (for I have much 
to explain), addressed to yourself. Surprised, but, may I 
venture to hope, not offended 9 Indeed, you have no cause 
for offence. None can regret more deeply than myself the 
chain of untoward accidents that have conspired to lower 
me in your opinion, nor the consequent estrangement of a 
lady whose esteem I value exceedingly, and whom I was 
formerly permitted to consider one of my oldest and kindest 
friends. Whatever hopes I may have cherished, whatever 
feelings I may have entertained of a more presumptuous 
nature, shall assuredly never again be expressed in words. 
As far as you are concerned it is as though they had never 

402 


HUNTING HER DOWN 


403 


been. If I choose to treasure up a memory in the place 
where I never ought to have planted a hope, that must be 
my own affair, and you are welcome to call me a fool for 
my pains. But enough of this. I am now writing less as 
a suppliant imploring mercy, than an injured man demand- 
ing justice. I have tried over and over again for an 
opportunity of defending my conduct in person, I am at 
last driven to the less agreeable task of excusing myself 
by letter. Do not be impatient and unfair. I only ask 
you to read this in the spirit in which it is written. 

‘‘You had reason, good reason, I frankly admit, to be 
very deeply offended many months ago, and our outward 
reconciliation since then, though plausible enough, has not, 
I feel, been of a nature to re-establish terms of common 
cordiality and good-will. You thought me, and I cannot 
blame you, over-bold, intriguing, and unscrupulous. You 
judged me guilty of gross presumption, of an act scarcely 
permissible to a gentleman, and I allow appearances were 
very much to my disadvantage. Ah, Mrs. Vandeleur ! 
you little knew the feelings that prompted a step I have 
never since ceased to regret. You little knew my jealousy 
— mine! without a shadow of right — concerning eveiy- 
thing that could be said or thought about one who was my 
ideal of goodness and truth. I felt persuaded it was 
impossible for you to do wrong. I felt equally determined 
to ascertain the origin of a thousand rumours that it drove 
me wild to hear, and obtain for myself the power, if not 
the right, to contradict them on my own responsibility. 

“ In doing this I offended you beyond redemption. I 
do not deny your grievance. I do not wish to dwell one 
moment on so painful a subject. I only ask you to believe 
in my regret, in my sincerity ; to place on my subsequent 
conduct that favourable construction which I have never 
forfeited by my actions, and to meet me in the world as 
a fr-iend — nothing more. But, I entreat you, Mrs. Van- 
deleur — ^nothing less. 

“ Good-natured Dolly Egremont has sent me his box at 
the Accordion for the 10th. Though too near the stage, it 
is the best in the house. I am anxious to make up a party 
of people who know each other well, and have already 
secured Miss Tregunter. She can only spare us the 


404 


THE WHITE BOSE 


evenings now from shopping for her trousseau. There are 
a few more, all favourites of your own. Can you be per- 
suaded to join us? You will he doing a kindness to a 
great many people. You will be amused — even interested; 
and you will prove to me that, if not forgotten, at least my 
ill-judged precipitancy has been forgiven. Please send me 
an answer, though I will take care a place is kept for you 
at any rate. 

“ Little news this morning at White’s or Boodle’s. 
Lady Featherbrain is going to marry her old admirer after 
all. She has just driven him down St. James’s Street in 
her mail-phaeton. They are taking five to two here that 
she throws him over before next Monday, the day for which 
the match is fixed. Young Fielder has not bolted after 
all. His father pays up, and he is to exchange. Poor 
Cotherstone, I fear, is dying. This, of course, will dis- 
qualify Purity, Hydropathist, and a great many more of 
the Clearwells that are never likely to be favourites. 

“ I had almost forgotton to say our box is for the first 
night of Gerard Ainslie’s play. I hear it is to be a great 
success. Come and give your opinion. I shall then know 
that I may subscribe myself, as ever, 

“ Your sincere friend, 

“Granville Burton.” 

“ Poor fellow ! I wonder w^hether he can really have 
cared for me after all ! ” was Mrs. Vandeleur’s first thought 
when she read the above apologetic epistle. “ Not a bit of 
it ! ” was her next, as she reflected on its measured diction 
and well-chosen expressions, artfully selected to avoid the 
remotest shadow of offence. “No. If it had come from 
his heart there would have been a little bitter to mix with 
all that sweet. Gerard would have reproached me half-a- 
dozen times in as many lines if he had felt ill-used. Ah ! 
I don’t believe anybody in the world ever cared for me as I 
like to be cared for, except Gerard. And now we must 
never meet. It does seem so hard ! Well, I may go and 
see his play at any rate. There can’t be much harm in 
that. I suppose I must write a civil line to accept. I’ll 
try and find Jane first. It looks odd of Mr. Burton, too, 
getting this box and then asking me to join his party. I’ll 


HUNTING HEM DOWN 


405 


wear my grey satin, I think, with the hlack lace. I wonder 
what he can he driving at ? ” 

It was indeed impossible for her to guess, hut Granville 
Burton did not usually drive at anything without being sure 
of the goal he intended to attain. In the present instance 
he had a great many objects in view, and the design of 
making a great many people uncomfortable — Dolly 
Egremont, his affianced bride, Gerard Ainslie, Mrs. 
Vandeleur, himself not a little, inasmuch as the scratches 
he had sustained while endeavom’ing to detach the 
White Kose from her stem still smarted and rankled 
to the quick. Lastly, Madame Molinara, once the miller’s 
daughter at Kipley, now the famous American star, whose 
name in letters four feet long was placarded on every 
dead wall in the metropolis. 

Fanny’s incognito had proved more difficult of pre- 
servation than she anticipated. Like many others, she 
imitated the ostrich, and hoped to escape observation only 
because it was her own desire to avoid notice. It is 
strange that her experience in the United States, where 
it is everybody’s business to find out his neighbour’s, had 
not taught her better. Such men as Granville Burton 
make a profession of knowing all about a new celebrity, 
never learning less, usually more, than the actual truth. 
Inquiring where they were horn, and how and why. 
Ascertaining their education, their manners, their private 
means — above all, their secret peccadilloes. It is so 
pleasant to feel possessed of the freshest news at a dinner- 
party, to keep the key of a secret that shall excite all 
those guests to envious attention, watching or making the 
wished-for opportunity, and then, with calm superiority, 
proceeding in measured tones to detail that wicked little 
anecdote which nobody in London has heard before, that 
startling bit of news which has not yet found its way into 
the afternoon club, or the evening paper. But, like the 
fishmonger, you must be careful no opposition dealer has 
fresher wares than yours. If once your story be capped, 
or its authenticity disputed by a better-informed rival, 
farewell to your superiority for weeks. Such a check is 
sometimes not to be got over in the whole of a London 
season. 


406 


THE WHITE BOSE 


Burton knew Count Tourbillon, of course, just as lie 
knew every otlier notorious man in London. Equally, of 
course, smoking their cigars in the sun (as we are glad to 
do in England), their discourse, originally attracted to the 
theme by a hurried nod Dolly Egremont gave them in 
passing, turned on the new celebrity, who, so the world 
said, was to make the fortune of their friend, his company, 
and every one connected, however remotely, with the 
Accordion Theatre. 

“They say she’s a wonderful actress,” observed the 
Dandy, in languid afternoon tones, as of a man whom no 
subject on earth could heartily interest. 

“ My faith — no ! ” replied the Count. “ Quick, brilliant, 
versatile, and producing great effect in superficial parts ; 
but for true passion, for deep repressed feeling — bah ! 
She has no more power to express it than a ballet- 
dancer. See, she would make fury with an audience in the 
part of Lady Teazle. She would be hissed off after ten 
minutes if she attempted to play Ruth.” 

“ You’ve seen her act ? ” inquired Burton. 

“ I have seen her act,” answered Tourbillon, in measured 
tones, repressing with difficulty the mocking smile his own 
words called up. 

“Good-looking, they tell me,” continued the Dandy, 
taking his hat off to a lady on horseback. 

“ Only on the stage,” replied the other. “ Hers is a 
beauty that needs the accessories of dress, jewels, lights, 
illusion. If you walked with her through a garden at 
sunset, you would say, ‘ I have deceived myself. This is 
a wearisome woman. Let us go to supper.’ And she 
would accept the invitation willingly. Enfin, c’est une 
bonne grosse bourgeoise, et tout est dit ! ” 

“Then you know her? ” exclaimed Burton, waking up 
from his lethargy, delighted to think he could learn some 
particulars of the celebrity about whom everybody was 
talking. 

“ A Mend of mine was once much entangled with her,” 
answered the ready Frenchman. “Poor fellow! I do not 
like to think of it now. It is a sad story. Parlous d’autre 
chose.” 

But he had said enough to put his companion on the 


HUNTING HER DOWN 


407 


track, and with dogged perseverance Dandy Burton hunted 
it, step by step, till he had found out the truth, the whole 
truth, and a good deal more than the truth. With his 
large acquaintance, his inquiring turn of mind in all matters 
of scandal, his utter contempt for fair dealing in everything 
allied to the search for information, and the use he put it 
to when acquired, the Dandy could ferret out a mystery 
more promptly and certainly than any man, unconnected 
with the detective profession, in the whole of London. 

Perhaps his experience on the turf stood him in good 
stead, perhaps he was no little indebted to his own natural 
cunning and predilection for intrigue, but in a very few 
days he had identified Madame Molinara with the real 
Mrs. Ainslie, his former acquaintance, Fanny Draper, of 
Kipley Mill ; had satisfied himself the important discovery 
remained as yet almost exclusively his own, and had set 
about laying the train for a little explosion from which 
he anticipated much gratification in the way of spite, malice, 
and revenge. 

His information had cost him a dinner at his club to the 
American minister, an invitation for a duchess’s ball to 
an Italian gentleman once connected with the theatre 
at Milan, a box of cigars to Mr. Barrington-Belgrave, 
formerly Bruff, and three half-crowns at intervals to a 
seedy individual in black, once a tout, lately a dog- stealer, 
now a professional vagabond. He considered the results 
very cheap at the money. 

Dolly Egremont’s box was then secured for the first 
night of Pope dement^ or the CardinaVs Collapse, It 
would be a great stroke of business, thought the Dandy, 
to collect in that narrow space of the following elements, 
both discordant and sympathetic : — 

First, Miss Tregunter, on whose feelings the blazing 
effects of Madame Molinara’s attractions, and the general 
stage-business in which her plighted bridegroom must 
necessarily be absorbed, could not fail to produce a very 
disagreeable impression. 

Next, Dolly himself, over whom the ill-humour of his 
lady-love would lower like a blight, withering up his good 
spirits and good-humour during the ensuing twenty-four 
hours, and making him wish, perhaps, for an evil moment. 


408 


THE WHITE BOSE 


that he had left his petulant passion-flower blooming on her 
stalk. 

Then Gerard Ainslie, the author of the piece, to whom 
such an unwelcome appearance of a wife he had forgotten, 
thus resuscitated to enact the leading part in his play, 
would he a bugbear none the less startling, that he wit- 
nessed it for the flrst time by the side of the woman he 
had loved so long, and had hoped at last to make his own. 

And she ! The White Bose ! Burton would have his 
revenge then ! That pride of hers, that had over-ridden 
him so haughtily, would be humbled to the dust — and in 
his own presence too, by his own dexterity. Perhaps, in 
her despair and her humiliation, the forbearance, the 
generosity, the good feeling he would make it his busi- 
ness to display, might win her for him after all. 

Norah wondered, as we have learned, “ what the Dandy 
was driving at ! ” She would have been indignant, no 
doubt, but she must have felt flattered, could she have 
known that to attain his goal he would have spared neither 
whip-cord nor horseflesh, grudged no material, shrank from 
no risk, shutting his eyes to the probability of an upset, the 
certainty of a break-down, and the undoubted absurdity of 
the whole journey. 


CHAPTEE LIV 


PALLIATIVES 

Mrs. Vandeleue dried her tears and rang for the carri- 
age. It had been twenty minutes at the door. She 
hastened upstairs, bathed her eyes, sprinkled a little dirt 
in the shape of pearl powder on her face, and, discarding 
her maid’s choice, selected a bonnet she considered more 
becoming under the circumstances. It was no use looking 
her worst she thought, and despite such judicious applica- 
tions, the tell-tale eyelids were still reddened — the delicate 
face was paler than its wont. But she felt better. Some 
of the sharpness of the blow had passed away. Bm-ton’s 
letter proved to a certain extent an anodyne. It diverted 
her mind from the one great sorrow, gave her cause for 
reflection as to what she must decide about the play, and, 
above all, opened up a narrow glimpse of hope. Yes, there 
was a chance, nay, almost a certainty, of seeing Gerard 
once again. Happiness is, after all, very relative. Yester- 
day she pined and fretted because she could not spend her 
whole life with him, to-day she blessed and cherished the 
mere possibility of hearing his voice for five minutes in the 
crowded box of a theatre ! 

Of course he would come ! She had heard much of the 
eagerness with which authors are believed to watch the 
progress of their own productions, and not being familiar 
with the class, voted it an impossibility that Gerard should 
absent himself from the Accordion on the first night of 
his play. Madame Molinara too had made such a point 
of her presence. Poor Fanny might feel hurt if she never 
went to see her act. This would be an excellent oppor- 


410 


THE WHITE BOSE 


tunity, and to find husband and wife under the same roof, 
whether they recognised each other or not, would confirm 
her own good resolutions so strongly, and be so beneficial 
to herself ! The last seemed an unanswerable argument. 
She was persuaded, no doubt, that for a hundred such 
reasons, and not because of her intense thirst and longing 
to set eyes on Gerard once more, she had determined to 
accept Burton’s invitation, should she find on inquiry there 
was any likelihood Mr. Ainslie would make one of the 
party. 

To ascertain this point, she bethought herself it would 
be well to call on Jane Tregunter forthwith. Were not 
Gerard Ainslie and Dolly Egremont fast friends, sure to 
be familiar with each other’s movements ? Was not the 
latter gentleman bound in the most abject slavery to his 
afiianced bride? He could have no secrets from dear 
Jane, and dear Jane, she was sure, had no secrets fi’om 
her. 

Now with Miss Tregunter’s family, and in her own 
circle, there existed a pleasant fiction, upheld zealously 
enough, that the heiress never occupied her excellent town 
house in solitude, or, as she was pleased to term it, ** on 
her own hook.” 

Eelatives of different degrees, but of steady age and 
habits, were supposed to reside with her in continual 
succession, thus warding off the offensive strictures of 
Mrs. Grundy, who, with her usual consistency, saw not 
the slightest impropriety so long as the young lady only 
ordered her own carriages at her own time to go where she 
pleased, with entire independence of action when out of 
her own house. 

It was at present Aunt Emily’s turn of duty to mount 
guard over her niece, but Aunt Emily, who was prolific, 
and fond of her children, had been summoned home to 
nurse a croupy little girl, the youngest of ten, and Jane 
Tregunter, absorbed in her trousseau, was just as much 
femme seule as Lady Baker, who had buried two husbands, 
and might have seen out half-a-dozen, or Madame Molinara, 
who had found one more than enough. 

All this she explained with considerable volubility, 
before Norah had been in the house five minutes, pausing 


PALLIATIVES 


411 


in her discourse but once to kiss her visitor rapturously, 
and exclaim — 

Darling ! What a love of a bonnet ! ” 

‘‘And so, dear,” continued the fiancee, “here I am as 
independent as the Queen of Sheba, only mine isn’t a 
Solomon, you know ; far from it, dear fellow ! he was 
always a goose ; but then he’s such an honest one. And 
I’m ready to go anywhere with you, and do anything, and, 
in short, I’m game for any enormity you like to mention 
in the way of a lark. Only put a name to it, and here 
you are ! Do you know, it’s a great pull not having 

married young Nonsense, Norah, I’m very nearly as 

old as you, only I don’t look it. That sounds compli- 
mentary ! Darling, you know I always said you were 
beautiful, and so you are, but it’s impossible for me, with 
my chubby cheeks, and turned-up nose, ever to look like 
anything but a school-girl ! I wish it wasn’t. It’s so 
much nicer to have some expression of countenance. A 
woman at my age should have lost her baby-face. She 
ought to seem more as if she had ‘ been, done, and 
suffered,’ like a verb, you know. Even Dolly says yours 
is the most lovable face he ever saw. I’m not jealous 
though. I don’t consider him a very good judge, so you 
see I’m not vain either, though you’ll declare I am when 
I’ve taken you upstairs to show you my new dresses, and 
I’m sure the presents on that table in the back drawing- 
room are enough to make one as proud as a peacock ! ” 

It is, perhaps, needless to observe that for everybody 
who came to call on the future Mrs. Egremont, these 
“presents in the back drawing-room ” were just as much 
a part of the show as the new gowns, the new bonnets, 
the new stockings, handkerchiefs, gloves, and petticoats, 
nay, the new fiancee herself. 

Mrs. Vandeleur, as in duty bound, exhausted her whole 
vocabulary of praise. “ Beautiful ! exquisite ! uncommon ! 
perfect ! How thoroughly French ! How completely 
Spanish ! What extraordinary workmanship, in such 
thoroughly good taste too ! And the writing-case, dear, 
it must have been made on purpose ; who gave you 
that ? ” 

Miss Tregunter’s rosy face became the rosier for a 


412 


THE WHITE BOSE 


passing suffusion. “ Oh, that is a little attention of 
Mr. Burton’s. You know he proposed to me, dear. 
Wasn’t it funny? Do you think I ought to take it?” 

Mrs. Vandeleur opened her blue eyes. “Proposed to 
you, Jane!” she repeated. “And you never told me! 
When was it?” 

“ Oh ! a long time ago,” answered the other, hastily. 
“ At the end of last season, just before I went abroad. I 
met him the same night at Lady Featherbrain’s fancy 
hall. Wasn’t it awkward?” 

Norah pondered. That was the very day she had herself 
refused this adventurous swain, without, however, consider- 
ing it necessary to confide his offer to her intimate friend. 
Obviously, neither lady had been sufficiently proud of her 
conquest to make it public. 

“Well, you can’t send it back now,” she replied, 
gravely; adding, after a moment’s thought, “Janey, you 
were quite right not to marry him.” 

“Marry him! ” echoed Miss Tregunter, and the tone 
sufficiently convinced her listener that Dolly never had 
anything to fear from the rivalry of his old fellow-pupil. 

“But what a duck of a bracelet!” continued Mrs. 
Vandelem*, taking from the purple morocco case in which 
it was coiled an unequalled specimen of the jeweller’s 
art. 

“ Oh ! the bracelet,” exclaimed the other. “ Isn’t it a 
love ? Isn’t it per — fection ! Now, who do you suppose 
sent me that ? I can’t think why, I’m sure, except that 
he is a great friend of yours. Who but dear, quiet, 
melancholy, good-looking Mr. Ainslie. The jewels are 
magnificent, and the setting too beautiful ! Do you know, 
Norah, every morsel of that gold he found and dug out 
himself, while he was in Australia or California, or 
wherever people go who are ruined and want to make their 
fortunes ! ” 

It was Mrs. Vandeleur’s turn to blush, hut she hid her 
crimson face over the ornament, and in a few seconds it 
had grown even paler than before. 

He dug the gold himself, did he, poor fellow ! How 
she pictured in her mind the bivouac fires, the red shirts, 
the bronzed, bearded comrades, the barren ridges, the 


PALLIATIVES 


413 


starlit sky, the gloomy, desolate gi’andeur of the scene. 
She could almost fancy she saw the dear face, thoughtful, 
weather-beaten, careworn, gazing wistfully into the glowing 
embers, while his thoughts travelled back to England ; or 
hushed and calm in sleep, while he dreamed of the woman 
he had loved so hopelessly and so well. 

A tear fell heavily on those burnished links of hard-won 
gold. It was all very well to be patient, resolute, right- 
minded, but the rebellious heart would make itself heard, 
and she must see him once again. Just once again, and 
then she would accept her fate ! 

“ Janey,” asked the White Kose, discreetly changing 
the subject as far as her companion was concerned. 
“ What are you going to do on the 10th? I had some 
thoughts of the play if this cool weather lasts. Come and 
dine with me. Ill ask Mr. Egremont, of course, and 
well all go together.” 

“ Play, my dear ! ” answered the other. “ I’m sick of 
the very name of plays. How any man in his senses can 
make himself the slave Dolly is to a parcel of odious 
mountebanks, seems to me perfectly incomprehensible. 
Would you believe it, Norah, he never got away from that 
hateful Accordion till half-past twelve last night ? And 
he couldn’t stay to luncheon, or you’d have found him 
here, where, to be sure, he’d have been rather in om: way, 
because he had a disgusting rehearsal at two. Then the 
letters he gets, and the bills, and the bothers with the 
newspapers, and those shocking actresses ! My dear, it’s 
a continual worry, that drives me out of my senses ! ” 

“I suppose you will soon put a stop to it,” observed 
Mrs. Vandeleur, meaningly. 

“ I believe you ! ” answered Jane. “ Wait till I’m 
fairly in the saddle, and if I don’t make him as tractable 
as Tomboy, I’m very much mistaken. Poor fellow ! it’s 
only fair to say he’d get out of it at once if he could, but 
he’s so deep in the thing now, he must go on till the 
theatre closes. I wish they’d shut it up to-morrow. Well, 
qui vivra verra. If that Madame Molinara ever sets foot 
in my house. I’ll give her leave to stay there for good 
and all ! ” 

Ere Miss Tregunter could work herself into a fume 


414 


THE WHITE BOSE 


under this imaginary grievance, Norah recalled the con- 
versation artfully to the point. 

‘‘Then you’d rather not go, dear?” said she, in her 
soft, quiet tones. “ Don’t, if it bores you.” 

“I must!” replied this energetic martyr. “I can’t 
get out of it I I’ll come to you and welcome, but we must 
dine awfully early, for I’ve promised to he there for the 
first scene. It’s some new play Dolly makes a ridiculous 
fuss about, only because this dreadful American woman 
acts in it, I verily believe. There’s a lot of us going. 
Theresa, and Cousin Charlie, and Mr. Ainslie; and, in 
short, as many as the box will hold. It’s Mr. Burton’s 
party, and I. don’t want to be ruder to him just now than 
I can help.” 

Mrs. Yandeleur’s heart gave a little leap, not, I imagine, 
from the prospect of meeting either Theresa or Cousin 
Charlie. She would see Gerard then, possibly speak to 
him, and it would, of course, be much easier after that 
to sustain an eternal separation. 

She steadied her voice admirably while she repeated her 
invitation, begging her guest to name her own dinner-hour, 
insisting with unusual energy on the inconvenience of 
making it too late. 

“And now,” said Miss Tregunter, holding the door 
open with the air of a chairman at a Board of Directors, 
“ all this is what I call extraneous matter. Let us proceed 
with the real business of the meeting.” 

I suppose that to our coarser male organisation the deep 
and beautiful sublimity of Dress must ever remain a for- 
bidden worship — a mystery unrevealed. Not to man’s 
grosser sense is vouchsafed the judicious taste in colour, 
the discriminating touch for texture, the unerring glance 
for shape. We possess, indeed, our uniforms (hideous!), 
our sporting dresses (barbarous!), our official costumes 
(grotesque!), hut to the stronger and stupider animal 
undoubtedly has been denied that heartfelt rapture which, 
in all matters of gauzes, muslins, silks, satins, and brocades, 
springs from a sense essentially feminine, to be termed 
with propriety “the pleasure of the eye.” 

Miss Tregunter’s trousseau, exclusive of a closet in which, 
like Bluebeard’s wives, hung six various- coloured dresses. 


PALLIATIVES 


415 


filled two spacious bedrooms and a dressing-room. For 
one heavenly half-hour the ladies roamed at will through 
these gardens of delight. During this too brief period of 
enjoyment, it is my belief that Miss Tregunter, except as a 
remote first cause for such gi’atifying display, never gave 
her future husband a thought, that the pain in Mrs. Van- 
deleur’s fond heart was lulled, even deadened, by the power 
of that wondrous magic which has never been known to 
fail. Alas ! that it came out all the sharper and more 
piercing later in the day, when, driving home, she met the 
well-known figure on horseback. And Gerard Ainslie, not 
stopping to speak, took off his hat with a cold, proud, 
distant greeting. 

It was some little consolation to mark that he looked 
pale, worn, and ill ; to gather from his appearance that he 
too was not without his cares ; that however cross he might 
be, he felt likewise almost as unhappy as herself. 


CHAPTER LV 


ANODYNES 

Would she have loved him better had she guessed his 
morning’s work ? Does not the water-lily, torn cruelly 
up by its roots, only to slide from an eager, disappointed 
grasp, seem fairer and fairer as the pitiless stream bears it 
farther and farther out of reach? Are any of us really 
aware of its worth while our treasure lies under lock and 
key, ready to gladden the eye and warm the heart at our 
daily caprice ? No. I think when the thief is at the door, 
we wake to a sense of its importance, perhaps only to learn 
its full value, when the casket has been rifled and the jewel 
stolen away. 

Gerard Ainslie, like the majority of mankind, was not so 
constituted as to resist oft-repeated attacks of vexation and 
disappointment. Nay, there was so much of the woman in 
his temperament as rendered him patient and trusting at 
one season, suspicious and easily disheartened at another. 
Like a woman, too, while full of courage to dare, and forti- 
tude to endure, there were certain blows from which he 
made no effort to recover, certain injuries he would accept 
unresisting, to sink under them without a struggle. When 
the poor camel falls beneath that last ounce of burden, the 
meek eyes only urge their piteous reproach in silence ; the 
weary head droops gently to its rest without complaint, but 
never rises from the desert sand again ! Some years ago, 
perhaps, our gold-digger might have faced a great sorrow 
as becomes a man ; but the heart has thus much affinity 


ANODYNES 


417 


with the brain — should I not add, the stomach ? — that it 
will only bear a fixed amount of ill-usage, or even of justifiable 
wear and tear. Take too many liberties with it, and, no 
more than the intellect or the digestion, will it continue to 
perform its functions. There comes a paralysis of the 
feelings, as of the senses ; and that is indeed a dreary 
death-in-life which drops its arms in hopeless lassitude, 
and says, I have shot my bolt ; I have run my chance — 
sink or swim, what matter? I accept my fate ! ” 

Rash cowardice, is it not ? But a cowardice to which 
the bravest spirits are sometimes the most susceptible. 
Accept your fate ! What is this but yielding the stakes 
before the game is played out ? Scuttling the ship before 
she strikes and fills? Surrendering the fort, and going 
over with arms, standards, and ammunition to the enemy ? 
The man who succeeds in love, war, money-making, is he 
who will not accept his fate — no, not though it be rammed 
down his throat ? — but frowns, and grins, and strives, never 
yielding an inch, unless to win back two, and so, by sheer 
force of dogged obstinacy and perseverance, gaining the 
hard fight at last, and grasping the prize — to find, perhaps, 
after all, it is scarce worth taking. Never mind, however 
valueless the victory, the struggle is not without its good 
results. 

Now Gerard, from an inconsistency of character peculiar 
to such sensitive dispositions, though he had hoped on 
while there really seemed no hope, gallantly enough, 
became so relaxed by a gleam of unexpected happiness, 
that when adversity lowered once more, he could not endure 
the reaction, and gave in. He felt like some mariner, who, 
after battling with contrary gales a whole voyage through, 
makes his port in a fair wind that veers round and drives 
him out to sea again ere he can enter the harbour. Like 
some gold-seeker, who has travelled, and starved, and 
shivered, and prospected, and reached a likely spot at 
last, to find nothing but quartz, dirty water, sand, perhaps 
a little mica, but never a gi’ain of the pure, yellow, virgin 
gold. 

I do not hold this man was by any means wise thus to 
set up a fellow-creature for a fetish, and exact from his idol 
supernatural perfection; but, having adopted the super- 


418 


THE WHITE BOSE 


stition, degrading or otherwise, it would perhaps have been 
more consistent and more comfortable to stick fanatically 
to his worship, how much soever the image had become 
defaced, its pedestal lowered, its gilding tarnished, or its 
paint worn off. 

It is a hard truth, but probably no woman that ever wore 
a smile was worth one-tenth of the vexation, the longing, 
the weariness of spirit, caused by hundreds of them in 
hearts twice as kindly and honest as their own. Yet if 
men did not thus put a fictitious price on that which they 
covet, and pay it too, readily enough, what would become 
of romance, poetry, three-volume novels, the book of 
fashions, and the ladies’ newspaper ? Cosmetics would 
he a drug, chignons unsaleable, jewellers might shut up 
shop, Madame Devy would he bankrupt, Madame Vigoureuse 
paralysed, and Madame Rachel in the Bench. 

Such questions of demand and supply never occurred to 
Gerard’s aching heart. Sore and angry, he determined 
Norah was no longer worthy of her place in his breast, and 
resolved, therefore, unphilosophically enough, to make him- 
self as miserable as he could during the rest of his life. 
He was one of those gentlemen, very scarce, they tell 
me, in the present day, who despise Moore’s sagacious 
warning, — 

“ ’Tis folly when flowers around us rise, 

To make light of the rest if the rose be not there, 

And the world is so rich in voluptuous eyes, 

’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair.” 

Like a spoilt child whose favourite toy is broken, he declined 
to play any more, and refused to be comforted. 

There is a strange impulse in restless spirits, that urges 
them ever towards set of the sun. “ Westward ho ! ” 
seems the natural outcry of weariness and discontent. 
‘‘ You may go to h — 11 ! ” said the stump orator to his 
constituents, who had failed to re-elect him for Congress, 
‘‘ and I’ll go to Texas ! ” Something of the same sentiment 
hardened Gerard’s heart when he saw the round of fashion 
and amusement whirling about him in the gaiety of a 
London season ; that gaiety which, pleasant as it is, seems 
such a bitter mockery to an empty or an aching heart. Of 


ANODYNES 


419 


Texas, indeed, he had heard too much to make it his 
refuge, but for a few thousand pounds he bought a great 
many thousand acres in the neighbourhood of Buenos 
Ayres, and thither he resolved to betake himself forthwith, 
fitting out for the purpose a goodly barque of considerable 
tonnage, which he proposed to command as captain and 
sailing-master, lading her with a cargo of ‘‘notions ” that 
could not fail to make handsome profits, and selecting with 
^eat care a crew of honest, able-bodied “ salts,” such as 
it would be a pride and a pleasure to employ. “If any- 
thing can take the nonsense out of a fellow,” thought 
Gerard, “ it will be such a trip as this. Constant work, 
heavy responsibility, lots of foul weather, and then a had 
bargain to make the best of, a life in the open air, and a 
score of half-broken horses to gallop about a farm of fifty 
thousand acres!” 

To this end he proceeded to dispose, by sale and gift, of 
the necessary articles constituting a bachelor’s establish- 
ment in London. Two or three pictures, several boxes of 
cigars, a self-;idjusting filter, the Kacing Calendar com- 
plete, two hull-terriers, a piping bullfinch, a mail-phaeton, 
a circular brougham, several valuable canes, a harmonium, 
and a stud of hunters. 

It was pleasant for Mrs. Vandeleur, reading the Morning 
Post at breakfast, to come on such an advertisement as 
this, from the pen of Messrs. Tattersall : — 

“To he sold without reserve, as the owner is about to 
leave England, the following horses, well known in 
Leicestershire, the property of Gerard Ainslie, Esq.,” 
succeeded by a string of high-sounding appellations 
dwindling at last to “ Jack and Gill, quiet in harness, and 
have been constantly driven together,” and concluded by 
“Norah Creina, a favourite hack.” 

“ He might have kept her,” thought Mrs. Vandeleur, 
“if only for the name!” but her eyes filled with tears, 
and to swallow them did not improve her appetite for 
breakfast. 

Their joint sorrow was unequally divided, the woman as 
usual having the larger share. Gerard sought relief in 
sheer hard work of mind and body. To a certain extent 
he found it. A long day passed at the docks, carefully 


420 


THE WHITE BOSE 


overlooking fittings and repairs for his ship ; a dozen inter- 
views with different merchants, all men of the strictest 
probity, but with whom it was “ business ” to get the better 
of him if he neglected to keep his eyes open ; a hunt through 
Wapping and its purlieus, after, here a boatswain’s mate, 
and there a ship’s carpenter, with unceasing search for top- 
men, smart but not “ cheeky,” knowing their duty yet not 
wholly given over to drink, — these varied labours would 
sometimes tire him so completely that after an hour’s 
smoking he was glad to go to sleep in his chair, only 
leaving it to toss and tumble through a wakeful night in 
bed. 

Then, mistaking the fatigue of body for peace of mind, 
he would vote himself cured of his infatuation, and to prove 
it, even changed the barque’s name, substituting for her 
humble appellation of the Simple Susan, a more suggestive 
title as the White Rose. 

He “ pitied himself,” as the French say, very deeply, 
and this form of sympathy is not without a spurious con- 
solation of its own. His friends, too, afforded him the 
usual commiseration, vaguely wondering why they saw him 
so seldom, but accepting the loss of his society with resigna- 
tion, and troubling themselves not at all about its cause. 
Dolly, entering the Club he most affected, about five o’clock 
in the afternoon, found a knot of intimates thus bewailing 
the absentee. 

“ Has Ainslie got any sound horses amongst those 
wretches I saw to-day at Tattersall’s? I want two or 
three hunters if I can get my sort. Anybody know any- 
thing about any of them ? ” 

The speaker was a stout florid young man, who looked 
rich, stupid, and good-natured. He loved hunting very 
dearly, was extremely well-mounted, very particular that 
his horses should be safe fencers, and equally careful only 
to ride them at safe places. As his friend and toady Mr. 
Agincourt, commonly called Blueskin, was wont to observe, 
“ It seemed a good system, making the odds two to one in 
his favour.” 

That gentleman laid down the Globe and rose from his 
chair. “ There’s one you ought to buy,” said he dictatori- 
ally, for he understood his profession, and smoothed a 


ANODYNES 


421 


patron’s plumage from the higher standing-point; ‘^the 
chestnut with a thin tail ; ‘ Bobstay ’ they call him in the 
list. I saw him go last season from Gumley Wood to the 
Caldwell, right across the Langtons, and he never put a 
foot wrong ! I don’t believe there’s such another fencer in 
England. Old Fly-by-night gave me two falls following 
him, in and out of the j&arhorough road. The distance 
isn’t much, hut I’ll trouble you for the ‘ oxers.’ No horse 
that can go straight in that country should slip through 
your fingers. I shall he at Tattersall’s at any rate, and 
I’ll bid for him if you like.” 

“ I suppose Ainslie don’t ride much,” observed the other, 
a gratuitous assumption enthusiastically repudiated by 
young Lord Basperdale. 

“Ride, Jerry!” exclaimed that outspoken nobleman; 
“ I should just like to see you bound to follow him. Why 
he beat every man jack of us last March on a thorough-bred 
horse he calls Lucifer — the beggar they returned so often 
as unrideable — in that good run from ‘ John-o’-Gaunt.’ 
There were only three fellows out of Melton got to the end, 
and I wasn’t one of them, but he was. Ride, indeed I the 
only fault I can find in his riding is that he’s a tmai too 
hard ! ” 

“ The more fool he,” replied imperturbable Jerry. 
“ Then, Blueskin, I think you and I will just pop in 
presently, and have a look at Bobstay. But why is he 
sending them up ? Is it a bond fide sale, or does he only 
want to get rid of the drafts? ” 

“Don’t you know?” observed an elderly smoke-dried 
man from the writing-table. “ Do you mean to say you 
haven’t heard ? This Mr. Ainslie is but a man-of-straw, 
after all. What you young fellows call ‘ a chalk ’ performer. 
I don’t believe he ever had a shilling more than two thou- 
sand a-year, and he’s been living as if he’d twenty. Good 
fun, I dare say, while it lasted ; but result — smash ! 
Everything’s to be sold — pianofortes, guineafowls, carri- 
ages, villa at Teddington, yacht at Cowes ; in short, the 
whole plant. Jerry needn’t alarm himself about the horses. 
Take my word for it, they’re not to be bought in, if they go 
for five pounds a -piece I ” 

“ I think you’re mistaken about the money,” said Mr. 


422 


THE WHITE ROSE 


Agincourt. ^‘I’ve always understood he succeeded to a 
large fortune, but it was all in Blight’s bank ; and when 
that broke, our friend ‘ went his mucker ’ with the others, 
and we shall never see him here again.” 

‘‘ I’ll take ten to one about that,” interposed a young 
guardsman, solacing himself with a chicken sandwich and 
dry sherry. “ I don’t believe he’d money in Blight’s bank, 
any more than I have in Cox’s ! No, it’s that American 
woman who has cleaned out Ainslie. What’s her name ? 
This new actress coming out at the Accordion. Here’s a 
fellow who’ll tell us all about it. Dolly, what’s the name 
of your new star, that you make such a row about, and why 
did you let her have a run at Ainslie first, instead of the 
other Jerry here, who’s twice as big a fool with twice as big 
a fortune ? ” 

“ He’s not a fool. He’s not ruined. He’s no more to 
do with Madame Molinara than you have,” answered Dolly, 
honestly enough, and standing up as usual for his friend. 
“Why a fellow can’t sell his horses and go abroad for a 
lark, without everybody swearing he’s a blackguard and a 
sharper, is one of those scandals which beat me altogether, 
I confess. Ainslie’ s got six thousand a-year if he has a 
penny, and I don’t believe he ever spoke to my new actress 
in his life ! ” 

“ Bravo, manager ! ” shouted half-a-dozen voices. 
“ That’s right, Dolly. Stick up for the shop ! You only 
say so to defend the respectability of your theatre ! ” 

Like a baited bull, Dolly turned from one to another of 
his tormentors. 

“ Ask Burton,” said he, pointing to the latter, who had 
been sitting silent in a corner, behind the evening paper ; 
“ he knows all about him. Ask the Dandy, if you don’t 
believe me.” 

That gentleman pointed to his forehead. “ Quite true,” 
he replied, with a gentle smile of commiseration. “ I have 
known poor Ainslie from a boy. He was always very 
queer. Not mad exactly ; at least not mad enough to be 
shut up ; but subject to fits of fiightiness, you know, and 
alarmingly violent at times. It is best to get him abroad 
during these attacks, and I’m glad he is going. Poor fellow, 
it’s very sad for himself and very painful to his friends ! ” 


ANODYNES 


423 


As usual, not for ten men who heard the slander, did 
one listen to its contradiction — Dolly’s indignant protest 
being lost in the uprising of the conclave to go and talk the 
whole thing over again, a mile and a-half off, in the Park. 


CHAPTER LAI 


TOLD OUT 

The Dandy was not mad, far from it, and nobody would 
have attributed his ruin to an3rthing like want of caution 
or care for number one. Nevertheless, he was at this very : 

period in the last stage of undeclared bankruptcy, having i 

arrived at that hopeless point, so touchingly described in | 

the well-known parody (perhaps the best of its kind ever | 
written) on Locksley Hall : — j 

I 

“ Credit shook the glass of Time, and dribbled out the golden sand, I 

Every day became more valueless my frequent note of hand.” ; 

! 

Mr. Burton, to use an expression of the money-market, ' 

had “a good deal of paper out.” Little of it, I fear, was ; 

of greater value than that which is made into tags for the j 

tail of a kite. Certain of the tribe of Judah had already j 

refused to look at it. They declared it “ wouldn’t wash,” j 

— an objection one would hardly have expected gentlemen | 

of their appearance to entertain. His own Christian man j 

of business, a respectable solicitor, had long ago given him j 

up as a bad job. “Your position, my good sir,” said that ] 

sagacious person, “is beset with difficulties. I scarcely ! 
know what to advise, but, under all circumstances, the 
closest retrenchment is indispensable ! ” 

Now “ the closest retrenchment” was exactly that form 
of amendment to which the Dandy was most averse. In 
his eyes, any other way of escape seemed preferable. His 
habits were formed now, and those indulgences, which once 
afforded such keen gratification as superfluities of luxury, 
had become daily necessities of life. It is not your i 


TOLD OUT 


425 


thoughtless, reckless, devil-may-care spendthrift, who 
walks through his thousands, few or many, in a couple 
of London seasons and a winter at Rome, that feels the 
real pressure of poverty when his last hundred has vanished 
after the rest. No ; these graceless spirits are usually con- 
stituted with considerable energy, faultless digestions, and 
marvellous powers of enjoyment. The Lord Mayor, or the 
Pope, or somebody, gives them a lift when they least expect 
it ; they turn their hands to work with as keen a zest as 
once they did to play, and find as much fun in five shillings 
as they used to extract from five pounds. Such men often 
end by building up a fortune ten times as large as the one 
they kicked down. But the selfish, cold-blooded sensualist, 
the drone that loves the honey for its own sake, and thinks 
by superior cunning to over-reach the bees ; the man of 
pleasure, who draws from every sovereign its twenty- 
shillings’ worth of gratification, neither throwing away nor 
giving away a farthing, who calculates extravagance as 
others do economy, and deliberately weighs the present 
indulgence against the coming crash, undeterred by the 
consciousness that pre-arranged insolvency is neither more 
nor less than swindling, he it is who discovers, to his cost, 
when money and credit are both gone, they have taken with 
them everything that makes life worth having, and left 
nothing in their place but a broken constitution, an en- 
feebled mind, a nerveless arm, and a diabolical temper. 
Such are the results of systematic pleasure-seeking, and for 
such ailments friends advise and doctors prescribe in vain. 

This deplorable state Dandy Burton, notwithstanding his 
enviable start in life, bade fair to reach at last. Latterly, 
as he told himself with bitter emphasis, for he confided in 
none else, everything had gone against him. His winnings 
on the Turf had been invested at high interest in a foreign 
railway, which must have paid admirably had it ever been 
constructed on anything but an en^neer’s plan. To meet 
his losses he had been compelled^ to borrow of the Jews. 
He bought a share in the best two-year-old of its own, or 
perhaps any other year, and in this transaction showed 
his usual judgment ; but the two-year-old broke its leg at 
exercise, and no amount of care or forethought could have 
prevented the catastrophe. A farm ho sold realised less 


426 


THE WHITE ROSE 


than was anticipated. A great-aunt, from whom he ex- 
pected an opportune legacy, died suddenly, and “cut up,” 
as he expressed it, far worse than anybody would have 
supposed. Then came powers of attorney, calling in of 
balances, mortgaging of acres, and sale of reversions. 
Lastly, bills drawn, accepted, renewed : and so the clouds 
seemed to gather from each quarter of the heavens, ready to 
burst in a thunderstorm over his head. 

And all the time he had not the heart to forego the 
vainest pleasure, the resolution to give up the smallest 
luxury. He must keep his brougham, of course — no fellow 
could do without his brougham; and the tea-cart — every 
fellow had a tea-cart ; also, it was impossible for the same 
animal to go in both. Putting down the saddle-horses would 
he simply to advertise his ruin, and bring the Philistines on 
him at once. A stall at each opera-house seemed a positive 
economy, for where else could he pass the evening without 
spending more money? The same argument held good 
regarding his share in the omnibus-box. Poole he didn’t 
pay, of course, — that great and good man never expected 
it ; while bills for gloves, books, eau-de-Cologne, and such 
small personalities, were liquidated by fresh orders easily 
enough. He often considered the subject, and as often 
came to the conclusion that his habits were really regulated 
with due regard to economy, and there was no direction in 
which he could retrench. To leave off attending races 
would certainly save a few paltiy “ fivers ” in railway 
fares ; but then was it wise to lose the experience of a 
life-time, and miss, perhaps, the one good thing, that to 
pull off would put matters again almost on the square ? He 
certainly belonged to too many clubs, but out of which 
should he take his name, for the sake of the miserable ten- 
pound subscription he had paid his entrance-money on 
purpose to defray? One was the only place in London 
where “fellows” were to be met with between four and 
five p.m. It would be a pity to leave another till that ’34 
claret was drunk out. At a third a man might ask a friend 
to dinner ; at a fourth, play whist for hundred pound points, 
if he fancied it ; at a fifth, smoke cigars in an atmosphere 
you could cut with a knife during any hour of the twenty- 
four ; while a sixth boasted the unspeakable advantage 


TOLD OUT 


427 


that its members comprised all the stars of the literary 
world, though none of them ever seemed to go near it 
by day or night. Obviously, nothing in the way of 
retrenchment could be done as regarded clubs. Then 
his daily life, he argued, his own personal habits, were 
of the simplest and most ascetic. Chocolate was the only 
thing he ever could drink for breakfast, and it could surely 
be no fault of his that cigars were not to be bought fit to 
smoke under seventy shillings a pound. Turkish baths 
every day came cheaper than visits from a doctor, and 
nothing but those searching sudorifics enabled him to 
drink dry champagne, the only wine that really agreed 
with him now. He might save a ten-pound note, perhaps, 
on the whole year, by dismissing Brown, to whom he paid 
unusually high wages ; but then Brown saved him a fortune, 
he always reckoned, in many valuable receipts for varnish, 
hair-oil, shaving-soap, and such articles of the toilet ; while 
his system of never settling the valet’s book till it rose to a 
hundred pounds, and then writing a cheque for the amount, 
spared him an infinity of trouble, and seemed a wise financial 
transaction enough. Brown, too, was an invaluable servant 
in so many ways. Everybody wanted to engage a Brown. 
He knew the addresses of all his master’s friends, the 
post-towns of every country-house they frequented, the 
stations at which fast trains stopped, and those where 
post-horses were not to be procured. Arriving late at 
his Grace’s or my Lord’s, or the Squire’s, in five minutes 
dressing-things were laid out as if by magic — bath ready, 
towels aired, letters inquired for, all necessary information 
as to hours, habits, and guests, respectfully reported, while, 
however early a start might be made next morning, leathers 
appeared spotless, and guns oiled, as if Brown sat up all 
night. He could guess from the proposed “beat” what 
number of cartridges were likely to be shot away before 
luncheon ; and not another valet in Europe but Brown 
could tell whether a frost was too hard for hunting. It 
was a mystery how he found time to make acquaintance 
with all the ladies’ -maids, and through them to learn so 
much about the doings of their mistresses. 

An invaluable servant, thought Burton — so quick, so 
quiet, so respectful, so trustworthy, such a good manner, 


428 


THE WHITE BOSE 


and, above all, so devoted to his master’s interests. No ; 
he could not afford to part with Brown ! 

So the Dandy wrote one or two letters which, notwith- 
standing his high opinion of the valet’s fidelity, he resolved 
to post with his own hands ; and dressing scrupulously, as 
usual, sauntered off to his club. 

Mr. Brown laid out his master’s evening’s clothes, shook, 
brushed, and folded those lately taken off, removed every 
speck from his own irreproachable costume, and proceeded 
to the house of call he most affected, where he ordered a 
glass of cold brandy-and-water, not too strong, with which 
he dilute I the perusal of BelVs Life, not omitting to study 
the odds I for a great race, on which many a nobleman 
would have liked to make as good a book as Mr. Brown’s. 

His occupation was interrupted by a showily-dressed, 
flash-looking individual, with dark eyes, a good deal of 
whisker, and a red face, who accosted him with great 
cordiality, and a pressing invitation to drink, calling for a 
bottle of champagne on the spot, which was promptly 
placed before them, both gentlemen preferring that pleasant 
wine out of ice. 

“Mr. Jacobs,” said the valet, in his usual staid tones, 
“ here’s your good health. You’re looking well, sir, and 
I’m glad to see our horse holds his own in the betting, 
though Tim telegraphs as he’s done our commission at 
Liverpool.” 

Mr. Jacobs leered with his fine eyes, and smiled with his 
ugly mouth. “Here’s luck!” said he. “We’ve pulled 
together in this here business strong, Mr. Brown, and it’s 
the best thing as I’ve been in since Corkscrew’s year. It’s 
not half so good a game as it was then. There’s plenty of 
flats left,” he added in a voice of plaintive regret ; “ but 
the flats knows they is flats now. Ah I it’s a great pity, it 
is. While as for the young ones — why there’s never such 
a thing. It seems to me in these days they’re all born 
with their wisdom-teeth cut, and their whiskers growed.” 

Mr. Brown made no answer. His own wisdom-teeth had 
been through the gums many a long year, and kept his 
tongue habitually in their custody. The other, filling both 
glasses, proceeded more cheerfully, “We might do a good 
stroke of business, you and me, Mr. Brown, suppose we 


TOLD OUT 


429 


worked together regular, with nothing to interfere. Why, 
as I was a-saying to ‘ Nobby ’ only last night at this here 
table, a man of your form is quite thrown away in such a 
profession as yours. There ain’t no scope for you, not 
what I calls elbow-room. ‘It’s down-right foolery,’ says 
Nobby. ‘ I wonder as Brown ain’t sick and tii-ed of it, and 
that’s the truth ! ’ ” 

“I have some thoughts of retiring,” answered Mr. 
Brown, who had indeed made his mind up long ago to the 
course he should adopt, and was only here now for what he 
could get. “ My ’ealth isn’t quite what it used to be, and 
change of hair at the different meetings always does me a 
world of good. We might work it, as you say, Mr. 
Jacobs, you and me. We can depend on one another, 
can’t us ? ” 

The dark eyes shot an eager glance in the speaker’s 
face. “Then he is going!” exclaimed Mr. Jacobs, 
emptying his glass at a gulp. “I’m a straightforward 
chap, I am, and I never has no secrets from a pal. There 
isn’t another man in the ring what I call so fair and above- 
board, as yours truly. Now I tell you what it is. Brown. 
I’ve calculated your ‘ boss ’ to a day — I may say to an 
hour. I never gave him longer than the week after next. 
If he goes a minute sooner you’ll tip me the office, won’t 
you now ? Honour I ” 

He pulled a note-case from his breast-pocket, and thrust 
a crumpled piece of thin suggestive paper into Mr. Brown’s 
unresisting hand. That worthy never moved a muscle of 
his countenance. 

“ He bought a foreign ‘Bradshaw,’ ” said he, “ the day 
before yesterday. Mr. Poole, he sent in a lot of new clothes 
last night. There’s been three gentlemen and a horse- 
dealer to look at our hacks. More than that, he’s posted 
five letters in the last two days himself. I’m sure of it, for 
I keep count of the envelopes in his writing-case, and 
there’s the same number of postage-stamps missing. I 
shall know, never fear, if he means bolting ; and you can 
trust me as if it was yourself. No, I won’t have another 
bottle, thank ye, Mr. Jacobs. I’m going out to tea directly. 
If there’s anything fresh to-morrow, I’ll drop you a line by 
post.” 


430 


THE WHITE BOSE 


So Mr. Brown walked leisurely off to his tea-party, and 
thence proceeded home to superintend his master’s dinner- 
toilet, affording him the usual assistance in his usual quiet 
unobtrustive man? ler, with as much tact and forethought as 
if he had no oth ji* study on earth, nor intended to apply 
himself to anyth, hg else while he lived. The Dandy, 
dressing early anjl somewhat in haste for a club -dinner, 
reflected how impvbssible it would be to do without such a 
servant, and even pondered on the wisdom of confiding to 
his faithful valet the secret of his ruin, to afford him the 
option of accompanying his master at a lower rate of wages 
into exile. 


CHAPTER LVII 

“ FOR AULD LANG SYNE ” 

If Gerard Ainslie, disgusted with life in general, and the 
White Rose in particular, took but little interest in his own 
play, now on the eve of representation, so culpable an 
indifference could not be said to extend to manager, actors, 
nor subordinates of the Accordion Theatre. The bills 
stated no more than the truth, when they affirmed that 
scenery, dresses, decorations, &c., were all new. Full 
rehearsals had rendered the players exceedingly perfect in 
their parts, and although much dissatisfaction was expressed 
at a certain want of fire in the dialogue, not a word could 
be said in disparagement of the gorgeous costumes that 
decorated the very supernumeraries in such scenes as the 
Pope’s universal benediction, or the Grand Chorus (upwards 
of a hundred voices) in front of the Cardinal’s Palace. An 
illustrative piece of music had also been written on purpose 
for the melodrama, that is to say favourite airs from 
various operas slightly altered, were tacked together, and 
played a little faster than usual. Every nerve was strained, 
every resource of the establishment exhausted to render 
Pope Clement^ or the Cardinal's Collapse^ what is termed a 
success, and his whole company seconded their manager’s 
efforts with something more than common professional 
zeal, something due to the genial character and universal 
popularity of the man. Madame Molinara had shown 
herself indeed a little troublesome in occasional absence 

431 


432 


THE WHITE ROSE 


from rehearsal, and carelessness when there ; but nobody 
who saw her walk across the stage, even by daylight, 
could doubt she was a thorough artist, and understood 
the very smallest minutice of her profession. Dolly 
could not repress his raptures ; much to that young lady’s 
disgust, he even enlarged on the excellences of his impor- 
tation in presence of Miss Tregunter. 

“ She can just act above a hit,” exclaimed our enthu- 
siastic manager. ‘‘ If I’d only known of her six months 
sooner, before they gave her that exorbitant engagement at 
New York, she would have made all own fortunes, and I’d 
have got a trousseau of my own — 

“Like other charmers, wooing the caress 
More dazzlingly, when daring in full dress. 

I won’t go on — the sequel you can guess ! ” 


Miss Tregunter very properly snubbed him no less for the 
glaring impropriety of his quotation, than the approval he 
chose to profess, “under the very nose,” as she said, “ of this 
detestable Yankee ! ” 

Still Janey was woman enough to entertain no small 
amount of curiosity concerning Madame Molinara, and 
would have been exceedingly unwilling to miss that artist’s 
first appearance. So she dined solemnly by daylight at 
Mrs. Yandeleur’s house, expressly to he in time, but was 
compelled to forego her lover’s attendance because that 
gentleman had contracted a previous engagement else- 
where. 

Nobody in London gave such pleasant little men-dinners 
as Dandy Burton, foofessing keen interest in G-erard’s 
play, he had long since obtained a promise from author and 
manager to dine early with him on the first night of its 
performance, that they might see it afterwards in company. 
He had reminded Gerard only that morning of his engage- 
ment, and the latter had agreed to join the dinner-party at 
least. Thus much he felt due to his old fellow-pupil, with 
whom his conscience smote him that he should be unreason- 
ably aggrieved. “ I won’t throw you over,” said he 
cordially. “ I’m off in less than a week, and I don’t think 
I shall ever come to England again.” To which the other 


AULD LANG SYNE 


433 


replied, hypocritically enough, “ Good luck to you, my dear 
fellow, on either side the Atlantic. I trust we shall see you 
back again before next year’s Derby ! ” 

The Dandy having then secured Dolly Egi-emont’s box, 
made up his party, ordered a little gem of a dinner for four 
at “ The Vertumnus,” and felt his traps were now artfully 
set and baited ; there was nothing more to be done but to 
await the result. 

To-night would be his grand coup. To-night the 
appearance on a public stage of Gerard Ainslie’s lawful 
wife could not but fall like a shell amongst the party 
collected in the manager’s box. “ Theresa,” indeed, and 
“ Cousin Charlie,” might escape un wounded ; but for 
Dolly and his future bride, must not such an exposure 
produce dismay and confusion of face ? For Gerard him- 
self destruction — for Mrs. Yandeleur despair? By that 
lady’s demeanour under the torture he would learn whether 
a chance existed of his own eventual success. If not ” — 
he stuck his hands in his pockets, ground an oath between 
his teeth, and paced across the strangers’ room at “ The 
Vertumnus” — “if not, I must make a bolt of it before 
Jacobs and his partner — ^whoever he is, d — n him ! — know 
anything about my movements. In the meantime, why 
don’t these fellows come? They made such a point of 
being early. Waiter ! get dinner directly ! ” 

Egremont and Ainslie arrived together ; the latter silent, 
out of spirits, preoccupied — the former in a state of intense 
bustle and excitement, looking so like the Dolly of former 
days on the eve of some holiday-making frolic, that even 
Burton’s worldly heart warmed to him for the moment, and 
beat during half-a-dozen pulsations with the sanguine, 
sympathetic cordiality of nineteen. 

“ What a day for Archers ! ” he exclaimed, shaking each 
guest by the hand. “ Dolly, I read victory on your 
brow ; and as for Jerry here, he looks a cross between 
Shakespeare and Sheridan. I’ve nobody to meet you but 
Tourbillon, and he’s always late, so we won’t wait a 
moment.” 

As if to redeem his character for punctuality, the Count 
entered while he spoke, smiling, radiant, well dressed, 
looking prosperous, wicked, and on exceedingly good 
28 


434 


THE WHITE BOSE 


terms with himself. The soup, too, made its appearance ; 
and the four men sat down to get the most out of 
their short hour and a half before they were due at the 
theatre. 

When people meet, either at dinner or elsewhere, 
expressly to celebrate a particular event, or discuss a 
particular subject, I have always remarked the conversation 
drifts about in every other direction, so that the assemblage 
often breaks up without having in any way furthered the 
object for which it was convened. On the present occasion, 
soup and whitebait were discussed without eliciting any- 
thing of greater interest than a late Paris scandal from 
Tourhillon ; but after a lobster rissole and second glass of 
champagne the guests became more talkative, and the 
Frenchman, turning to Gerard, observed with a meaning 
air completely lost on the other — 

‘‘ So you are off again, I understand, to make long 
voyages, great explorations — to bid farewell to England, to 
Europe ? My faith ! I think you are right.” 

Now, Gerard’s first impulse, like that of any other right- 
thinking person, had prompted him to leave the room the 
moment Tourhillon entered it. You can’t well sit down to 
dinner with a man who ran away with your wife, even after 
many years* interval ; neither can you reasonably pick a 
fresh quarrel with him, the old one having been disposed 
of, because you have both accepted invitations to the same 
party. It speaks ill for Gerard’s frame of mind that with 
a moment’s refiection he dismissed his first idea, and 
elected to remain. He was so restless, so unhappy, alto- 
gether in so excited a state, that he cared little what 
might happen next, and even looked forward to the possi- 
bility of a row arising out of their juxtaposition, into which 
he could enter, with savage zest. 

All this Dandy Burton had calculated to a nicety, when 
he meditated such a solecism as to place these two men at 
the same table. Anything that should put Gerard “ off his 
head,” as the saying is, before the grand final exposure at 
the theatre, would count very much in favour of his own 
manoeuvres. He was therefore prepared for an explosion, 
and somewhat disappointed at its failure. The Count, it is 
needless to observe, accepted the situation with his usual 


FOB AULD LANG 8YNE'' 


435 


good-humoured sang-froid, simply addressing Mr. Ainslie 
as a pleasant acquaintance with whom he was not on very 
intimate terms. 

The latter grew brighter and kindlier under the influence 
of wine. Even now, in his misery, it rendered him neither 
morose nor quarrelsome. Something, too, in the absurdity 
of the whole position struck him as irresistibly comical, and 
he almost laughed in the Frenchman’s face while he replied 
to his observation. After that, of course, there could be 
no more question of a quarrel, and they remained perfectly 
good friends till the dessert. 

I sail this day week,” said Gerard, cheerfully. “ I’ve 
got the best-built, best-fitted, best-found barque between 
London Docks and Deptford. Won’t you take a cruise 
with me. Count? I’ll give you a berth. Will either of 
you fellows come ? It is but a stone’s-throw across the 
Atlantic, if you’re in anything like a craft ; and the climate 
of South America is the finest in the world. Come, won’t 
you be tempted ? ” 

‘‘ Who’s to take my book on the Leger ? ” asked Bm’ton, 
wishing in his heart he might not be compelled to leave 
England whether he liked it or not. 

“ Who’s to manage my theatre ? ” said Dolly, with his 
mouth full. 

‘‘ And who is to write plays for it when Monsieur Enslee 
is gone?” added the Count, bowing courteously over the 
glass he lifted to his lips. 

“ Plays ! ” exclaimed the manager. After to-night no 
more plays need be written for the British public. I venture 
to predict that Pope Clement, as I have put it on the stage, 
will be the great triumph of the season. I tell you, I shall 
be disappointed if it don’t run a hundred nights, and go 
down as good as new into the provinces afterwards.” 

“ Here’s success to it ! ” said Burton. “ Give me some 
champagne. Why, Jerry, who would have thought of your 
turning out a great dramatic author when we were all at 
Ai-cher’s together ! We considered him stupid as a boy. 
Count, I give you my honour. It only shows how people 
are deceived.” 

‘‘Monsieur Enslee has seen a great deal since those 
days,” observed Tourbillon. “ To dramatise them, a man 


436 


THE WHITE BOSE 


should have exhausted the passions. It is but anatomy, 
you see, my friends, studied on the nerves and fibres 
of the surgeon’s own body. How painful, yet how inte- 
resting ! ” 

“Not the least painful! ” answered Gerard, laughing; 
“ and to the author, at least, anything but interesting. 
Only a bore, Count, while he works at it, and a disappoint- 
ment when it is finished.” 

“ Ah, bore ! ” replied the Count ; “that is an English 
disease — incurable, irremediable. The philosopher has 
migraine^ he has grippe, but he knows not what is under- 
stood by bore. I think the bore, as you call it, of you 
authors, is often worn like a pretty woman’s veil, to hide 
the blush of some real feeling that a false shame tells her 
to suppress.” 

As far as Ainslie was concerned, the Count’s arrow 
reached its mark. Of interest, indeed, in his own plot, 
he might have none ; but it was false to say there was no 
pain connected with it. Every line, every word, was more 
or less associated in his mind with the woman he had 
loved so long, and whom he had determined to see no 
more. He wished the play at the devil, wished he had 
never written it, never thought of it ! Wished he was 
fairly across the Atlantic, and the next two months were 
past ! Then something smote at his heart, and told him 
that henceforth there would be a blank in his life. So he 
emptied his glass, and called for more champagne. 

“We must make the best use of om- time,” said the 
host, at this juncture. “ Dolly is getting fidgety already. 
He sees an impatient audience, a company without a 
captain, and a gallery in overt rebellion. Suppose you 
got drank, Dolly, and didn’t go at all? What would 
happen? ” 

“ The supposition involves an impossibility,” answered 
Egremont, gravely; “but they’d pull the house down — 
that’s what would happen.” 

“You don’t mean it 1 ” replied the other. “What a 
lark it would be ! Waiter, coftee in five minutes. Just 
one glass of that old Maderia, and we’ll start. I have 
places, as you know, for you all — Dolly has kindly lent 
me his box.” 


“FOi? AULD LANG SYNE'' 


437 


“I thank you,” said the Count; “I shall enter later. 
I have taken a stall.” 

“ I don’t think I shall go,” observed Gerard carelessly, 
and opening his cigar-case. 

“Not go!” exclaimed Dolly, in accents of unaffected 
disappointment. 

“Not go ! ” echoed Burton, beholding, as he thought, 
the whole fabric he had taken such trouble to erect 
crumbling in pieces. 

“You’re sure to make a mess of it the first night,” 
argued Gerard. “Grooves stiff — scenes awry — actors 
nervous — prompter audible — and fiddles out of tune. 
Besides, how shall I look if they hiss it off the stage ? ” 

“ And how shall I look,” expostulated Dolly, “ if they 
call for the author and I can’t produce him ? They’ll pull 
the house down I My dear fellow, you don’t know what it 
is ! Under any circumstances, my theatre seems destined 
to destruction this blessed night ! Fifty thou — gone ! 
Well, it might have been worse ! ” 

They all laughed, and Ainslie looked inclined to give 
way. 

“You are right,” said the Count, who, in the plenitude 
of his good natm’e, really wished to spare Gerard the pain 
in store for him, should he recognise, in the Madame 
Molinara, from whom so much was expected, his runaway 
wife. “ I shall go late. I am not like our friend here, to 
whom five minutes’ delay must cost fifty thousand pounds. 
Ah I blagueur I I shall smoke one cigar ; you will stay and 
smoke with me. I tell you, my friend, it is better.” 

Something admonitory, almost dictatorial, in the Count’s 
tone jarred on the other. Ainslie’ s frame of mind was that 
in which men start off at a tangent from anything like 
advice, resenting it as they would coercion. 

“I don’t see why,” he answered rather shortly. “I 
shall have plenty of time to smoke between this and the 
Accordion. After all, hang it! I ought to stick by the 
manager. I’m ready, Dolly, if you are. Count Tourbillon, 
I wish you a good evening.” 

Burton said not a word. The judicious angler knows 
when to let his fish alone, giving it line, and suffering 
it to play itself. The Count looked a little surprised, 


438 


THE WHITE ROSE 


but attributed Gerard’s unexpected abruptness to the 
champagne. 

“II parait qu’il a le vin mauvais. C’est egal ! ” said 
he; and, undisturbed by the departure of the others, 
proceeded to smoke a tranquil cigar in solitude. 


CHAPTER LVIII 

THE manager’s BOX 

The Accordion, from its front row of stalls to the extreme 
verge of its gallery under the very roof, was one dense 
mass of faces, all turned eagerly towards the stage. Play- 
going people had been subsisting for a long time on 
musical extravaganzas, of which the extravagance outdid 
the music ; far-fetched burlesques, of little humour and 
less wit ; drowsy readings from Shakespeare ; translations 
ill-translated; and adaptations, worse adapted, from the 
French. The public were hungry for a real, old-fashioned 
melodrama once more, with love, murder, glittering swords, 
stage jewellery, frantic dialogue, and appropriate action. 
They longed to see the stride, the strut, the stop, — a 
scowling ^lain, a daring lover, — a Gothic hall, a moonlit 
pass, — above all, an injured heroine, now tearful and dis- 
hevelled, with pale face and hollow eyes, despairing at the 
back ; anon, radiant in smiles, white satin, and imitation 
pearls, exulting before the foot-lights, victorious over insult 
and oppression, triumphantly to vindicate the first principle 
of stage morality, that ‘‘ Beauty can do no wrong.” 

This starving public, then — through the medium of 
posters, newspaper advertisements, men in cardboard ex- 
tinguishers, and other modes of legitimate puffing — had 
been informed that its cravings were at last to be satisfied, 
in a grand, new, original melodrama called Pope Clement; 
or, the Cardinals Collapse, Critics whispered one another 
that this was none of your foreign plagiarisms, altered only 
in costume and language, but a real novelty — startling of 


440 


THE WHITE ROSE 


action, replete with incident, and — well — yes, it had been 
pruned to a certain extent, for in these days, you under- 
stand, an author cannot be too careful. But, although the 
moral was doubtless unimpeachable, some of the situations 
might seem, perhaps, to an English audience, a little — 
what shall we say? — unusual, but nothing the least in- 
delicate — ^far from it. Can we wonder that the famished 
public rushed incontinently to their meal ? 

Dolly Egremont, too, who had learned his trade by this 
time pretty perfectly, kept up the right amount of mystery 
regarding his American actress, identifying her skilfully 
enough with the new melodrama in which she was to 
appear. He also told several friends, under promise of 
inviolable secrecy — a manner of advertising only second to 
the columns of the Times — that this much-talked-of piece 
was the production of their acquaintance, Gerard Ainslie, 
who, from feelings of modesty, did not wish his name to be 
known; that it was by far the best thing out for many 
years ; that even the actors at rehearsal could not forbear 
their applause ; that the dresses had cost him three times 
as much as dresses ever cost a treasury before ; and that 
soft music would play continuously throughout the whole 
action of the piece. 

A thrilling drama — a new actress — a dandy playwright 
— and a liberal manager ! What more could be desired ? 

The bait took, the public were tempted, and the house 
filled. Dolly Egremont, peeping through a hole in the 
curtain, positively shook with mingled nervousness and 
delight while he scanned the overflow, and reflected that 
his check-takers were still driving applicants away un- 
satisfied from the doors. 

There was one part of the house, however, on which the 
roving eye of cupidity, even in a manager, could linger 
without counting profits or returns. For a few seconds it 
rested on his own box, and Dolly Egremont forgot that the 
world or the theatre contained an object beside Jane 
Tregunter, dressed in pink — a colom' which to other eyes 
than a lover’s might have appeared a little too bright for 
her complexion, a little too juvenile for her years. 

It is with that box we also have to do. Let us imagine 
ourselves impalpable, invisible, jammed into a corner under 


THE MANAGERS BOX 


441 


the peg on which the White Eose has hung up her 
bernouse. She has taken a place in front, furthest removed 
from the stage ; perhaps because there is a nook behind it 
containing the worst seat in the box, and likely therefore to 
remain vacant the longest. No chance is so minute as to 
he neglected in a woman’s calculations. Mrs. Vandeleur 
looks very pale, and her manner is more restless than 
usual, while the gloved hand that holds her opera-glasses 
would shake ridiculously but for her clenching it so tight. 
All the party had not yet arrived. Cousin Charlie, indeed, 
an ensign in the Guards, had made his appearance, and 
already told them the whole plot and history of the play, 
with comments of his own, facetious, not to say disrespect- 
ful ; for Charlie, like many of his kind, possesses unflagging 
spirits, any amount of that self-reliant quality which the 
rising generation call “ cheek,” imperturbable good-humour, 
very little sympathy with anything or anybody, and no 
faculty of veneration whatever. “ Theresa,” ten years 
older than himself — which, after all, scarcely makes her 
thirty — takes him up, as she calls it, and pets him consider- 
ably: laughing at his nonsense while encouraging his 
impertinence, treating him with a regard almost as 
demonstrative as she shows towards her bullfinch, and with 
about as much respect as she entertains for her poodle ! 

Miss Tregunter, because she disapproves of Dolly’s 
connection with the Accordion, superintends the whole 
ceremony, as it were, under protest, yet cannot but feel a 
certain accession of dignity in her own position, and has 
never perhaps looked on theatrical matters with so 
indulgent an eye as to-night. 

Cousin Charlie disappears to return with half-a-dozen 
play-hills, which he distributes, not without buffoonery, 
venturing even to address a far-fetched witticism to Norah, 
hut recoiling a good deal chilled from the cold, absent 
expression of that lady’s face, who has not indeed heard a 
syllable, to take refuge with Theresa, and whisper in her 
willing ear that “ Mrs. Y. has got her back up about some- 
thing, and he can guess why, but he isn’t going to say.” 

The orchestra strikes up. A child in the gallery be^ns 
to cry ; its removal in such a crowd is no more possible 
than to take away the great glittering chandelier from the 


442 


THE WHITE ROSE 


middle of the roof. An unfeeling joker suggests, Throw 
it over!” The audience cry, “Hush!” “Silence!” 
“Order!” Fainter and fainter the fiddles die off; the 
music sinks and swells and sinks again, into harmony such 
as an imaginative mind, predisposed by the play-bills, 
might fancy the resemblance of a morning breeze ; and 
with a fresh burst, which Norah, preoccupied as she is, 
thinks not unlilie something she has heard long ago in 
David’s symphony of The Desert^ the cm'tain rises on a 
“Sunrise in the Campagna” — wide plains, distant moun- 
tains, classic ruins, white oxen, flat-capped women, 
peasants cross-gartered, garlands, grapes, and garnishing 
all complete. 

The scene reflects great credit on the stage carpenters. 
The audience, prepared to be pleased, applaud loudly. 
Norah’s thoughts have travelled back, Heaven knows why, 
to the marshes about Kipley, and the box-door opening, 
with considerable bustle, announces a fresh arrival. By no 
small effort she concentrates her whole attention on the 
play. 

She has quite lost the clue to its opening, nevertheless. 
Already the peasants have dispersed ; the scene has changed 
to a street in Borne, where a “typically-developed” monk, 
with round stomach and red nose, is accepting a purse of 
zecchins — ringing and chinking with a rich luxuriance 
money never seems to possess in real life — from “a 
Gallant” (no other word expresses the character), wearing 
a black mask, long boots, a wide hat, a drooping feather, an 
ample cloak, and huge spurs that jingle as he walks. 

Mrs. Vandeleur’s ear, quickened % anxiety, recognises 
a man’s heavier tread close behind her. Pooh ! it’s only 
Mr. Burton ! She turns to shake hands with him civilly 
and even cordially. What does it matter? What does 
anything matter now ? The Dandy’s manner is perfect of 
its kind — guarded, conventional, the least thing penitent ; 
interested, yet exceedingly respectful. 

“Thank you so much for coming,” is all he says, and 
proceeds, gracefully enough, to pay his respects to the other 
ladies in the box. Heavy and sore at heart, Norah turns 
her face once more towards the stage. 

“ You must listen to this,” observes Burton, for the 


THE MANAGERS BOX 


443 


general benefit ; it’s almost the best thing in the play. 
I’m so glad we’re in time. I know Dolly’s on tender-hooks 
now. He would never have forgiven us if we had missed 
it.” 

By twos, and fours, and sixes, the manager’s whole 
force, supernumeraries and all, are trooping on the stage. 
Great masses of red and white group themselves artistically 
in the old Eoman street, over which a judicious arrange- 
ment of gas sheds all the warmth and glare of real Italian 
sunshine. It is impossible to detect where the human 
figures end and the painted crowd begins. Deeper and 
deeper the gorgeous phalanx gathers, and still, by a waving 
movement never discontinued, the effect is gained of an 
ever-increasing multitude massed together in the streets 
and squares of a city. Processions of white-robed priests 
and acolytes wind in stately measure through the mist; 
censers are swinging, choristers chanting, waving banners 
and massive croziers are borne to the front. It is the great 
scenic triumph of the play, and a burst of grand music 
appropriately heralds its exhibition to the audience. 
While she looks and listens, Norah’s heart seems very full; 
but a quiet sensation of repose steals over her, and she 
attributes it, perhaps, to the infiuence of those exalted 
strains, rather than to an instinctive consciousness of his 
presence whom she still so dearly loves. 

His sleeve just touches her shoulder as he slides into 
that vacant seat in the dark corner which nobody has 
thought it worth while to occupy. He has come in very 
quietly after Burton, and the attention of the whole party 
being riveted on the stage, his arrival remains unnoticed. 
How is it that Norah knows Gerard Ainslie is within a foot 
of her before she dare turn her face to look — that face no 
longer pale, but blushing crimson to the temples ? He does 
not see it. He sees nothing but a dazzling vision of 
lavender and black lace and grey gloves, and a white flower 
nestling in coils of golden chestnut hair ; but he is con- 
scious that the blood is rushing wildly to his own brow, 
and his heart aches with a keen thrilling sensation of 
delight, utterly unreasonable, and actually painful in its 
intensity. 

Author as he is too — the first night of his play and all 


444 


THE WHITE ROSE 


— yet has he quite forgotten drama, theatre, actors, the 
manager’s anxiety, his own literary fame, and the ostensible 
reason for his being there. This is no imaginary sorrow, 
that must henceforth darken all his future ; no fictitious 
passion that has endured through his whole past, that still 
so completely enslaves him ; he is trembling with a mad 
causeless happiness even now. 

Their whispered greeting was of the coldest, the most 
commonplace, but something in the tone of each struck 
the same chord, called forth the same feeling. Their eyes 
met, and in an instant Norah slid her hand in his, while 
both felt that in spite of doubt, anxiety, alienation, so 
much that had seemed harsh, unjust, inexplicable, their 
true feelings remained unchanged, unchangeable. 

Mrs. Vandeleur dared not trust her voice, and Gerard 
was the first to speak. His face looked very sad, and his 
tone, though kindly, was sorrowful in the extreme. 

“ I’m so glad to have seen you again to-night. But I 
should not — I could not have sailed without wishing you 
good-bye.” 

“ Sailed ! ” she gasped. Good-bye : What do you 
mean? Where are you going, and when?” 

“To South America,” he answered, simply. “We 
shall be at sea in less than a week.” 

All this in a low subdued voice, but they could have 
spoken out loud had they pleased, for burst after bm-st of 
applause now shook the very walls of the theatre, and 
excited spectators waving fans, handkerchiefs, opera- 
glasses, rose tumultuously in their places, to welcome the 
great American actress, at this moment making her first 
appearance before a British public. 

From his ill-contrived corner Gerard could see so little 
of the performance that he might indeed have left the box 
without further enlightenment, but that Mrs. Vandeleur, 
hurt, confused, dismayed, could think of nothing better 
than to make room for him, and direct his attention to the 
stage. 

The scene, representing the confessional of a cathedral, 
left nothing to be desired in architectural grandeur and 
fiorid decoration. Madame Molinara, as Yiolante, about 
to relieve her conscience from a heavy list of theatrical 


TBE MANAGERS BOX 


445 


sins, came forward with peculiar dignity of gait and 
gesture, enveloped from head to foot in a long white veil. 
Even Mrs. Vandeleur could not have recognised her under 
its folds. Gerard applauded like the rest, and observed 
to his companion, “ You can see she is an actress by the 
way she walks across the stage ! ” 

Round after round, the well-trained artist sustained that 
deafening applause without being tempted to destroy the 
illusion of the piece by abandoning her dramatic character ; 
but at length the enthusiasm reached such a height, that to 
delay its acknowledgment would have seemed alike un- 
courteous and ungrateful. The star came forward to the 
footlights, raised her veil, and executed a curtsey to the very 
ground. 

Then, indeed, the excitement became a tumult. A 
storm of bouquets burst upon the stage, besides one that 
fell short of its mark, and only reached the big drum in 
the orchestra. Shouts of **brava!*’ resounded from pit 
and boxes, while repeated calls on the band to strike up 
“ Yankee-Doodle ” pealed from the gallery; but through 
it all there came to Norah’s ear a hoarse whisper, as of one 
in extremity of pain, and every syllable smote like a knell 
upon her heart. 

“ Believe me,” it said, “ I did not know of this. You 
must feel I could never have so insulted you. It is well I am 
to leave England. My own — my only love — may God in 
heaven bless you. We shall never meet again! ” 

And this while Cousin Charlie and Theresa and the 
others, three feet off, were laughing and jesting and 
criticising the new actress. Her eyes, her arms, her 
ankles, the depth of her ciu’tsey, and the general turn of 
her draperies. 

Norah heard the box door shut, and then lights, audience, 
stage, pit, boxes, all seemed to swim before her eyes. 

‘‘ Mr. Burton,” said she, in a faint voice, putting out her 
hand, with that helpless gesture of entreaty, peculiar to the 
blind, ‘'will you take me out? I desired my carriage to 
wait. Would you mind asking for it ? The gas or some- 
thing makes me feel ill.” And so, rejecting every kindly 
offer of assistance and companionship pressed on her by 
Theresa and Miss Tregunter, Norah left the box, and 


446 


THE WHITE BOSE 


descended the private staircase of the theatre, arm-in-arm 
with the man she most disliked in London, conscious only 
that she was vaguely grateful to somebody, it mattered not 
to whom, for the relief it afforded her to get away. 


CHAPTER LIX 


EXIT 

Fob the convenience of its manager, the Accordion possessed 
a private door, opening on a quiet narrow street, and here 
Mrs. Vandeleur’s carriage was found in waiting according 
to orders. The fresh air revived its mistress almost 
immediately. She implored Burton to rejoin his party 
without delay, a request that gentleman had the good 
taste to accord at once, congratulating himself, it must be 
admitted, that so far at least his scheme had been tolerably 
successful. 

Returning to the box, he found Gerard Ainslie too had 
vanished. Nobody else was sufficiently anxious about 
Mrs. Vandeleur to press him with further questions, when 
he observed quietly, She was suffering from a bad head- 
ache, so he had packed her up in her carriage and sent her 
home.” In truth, these, like the rest of the spectators, 
could spare attention for nothing but the all-engrossing 
business of the stage. 

The long-drawn aisles of its scenic cathedral had been 
darkened so skilfully, as to convey an idea of dim religious 
grandem’, and vast architectural space. A few wax-tapers 
twinkled through the gloom. Violante, her white veil 
fallen from her brow, her black hair dishevelled on her 
shoulders, knelt with clasped hands and wild imploring 
eyes before the love-stricken Cardinal, while enumerating 
the catalogue of her sins. It was to the credit of our old 
friend Mr. Bruff, — we beg his pardon, Mr. Barrington- 
Belgi-ave, — that although he recognised her at rehearsal, he 
had respected the incognita of his former pupil. It was 


448 


THE WHITE EOSE 


also to his credit that on the present occasion he abstained 
from his customary rant. The tones of repressed passion 
in which he addressed her as my daughter,” the shiver, 
admirably controlled, that shook him from head to heel, 
when she besought his blessing, must have elicited its 
meed of applause then and there, but for the invincible 
attraction of the penitent herself. Those low tones of 
hers, from which intense power of histrionic genius had 
purged all provincialism of expression or accent, vibrated 
to eveiy heart; and many an eye was wet with tears, 
while the whisper — for it was scarcely more than a whisper 
— thrilled through the whole house, that told how the 
beautiful Italian struggled with her sin, and her despair. 

“ So when intreaty conies, 

Not like an angel, all in robes of light, 

Nor hero nodding from a golden car ; 

But earthly-troubled, weary, worn, and sad. 

Yet for defeat the prouder ; — and the eyes. 

The haunting eyes, draw tears from out my heart, 

Pleading an endless, hopeless, wordless grief ; 

Must I not pity. Father ? ” 

Well, it is not with her we have to do, with the successful 
actress in the crowded, lighted theatre, holding hundreds 
entranced by the recital of her fictitious woes. No. It is 
with the lonely suffering woman outside in the dark deserted 
street, pressing her temples hard against the cushions of 
her carriage, weeping bitter tears in solitude, yet not so 
bitter as to flow unmingled with a spring of consolation 
in the thought that, now as ever, for good and evil, in spite 
of all that had come and gone, through shame, sorrow, and 
separation, her image was still cherished, still worshipped, 
still beloved ! 

Yes, it was impossible to mistake those tones of 
passionate, heart-felt despair in which he bade her fare- 
well. Not the most consummate power of acting, not his 
own wife’s could have feigned the quiet weariness of deso- 
lation that spoke in every one of those half-dozen words. 
Her tears flowed faster while she recalled their tender, 
unreproachful sadness, their meek, undying love, and brain 
grew clearer, heart stouter, as she wept on. He should 
not part like this ! No, not if she waited in that dismal 


EXIT 


449 


street all night ! Of womanly reserve, and womanly pride, 
the White Kose cherished more than her share. To a 
presuming suitor none could, nor would, have dealt a 
shrewder rebuff ; but here was an emergency in which, to 
the false shame of a moment, might be sacrificed the 
repose — more, the very purpose of a lifetime. She must 
go mad, she felt, if he went away without her seeing him 
again, to ask what had happened ? how she had offended 
him ? why this change had grown up between them ? and 
to tell him that, though she was well satisfied to lose him 
for ever, because of justice and right, nothing here, nor 
hereafter — no, not a hundred wives — should drive him 
from the place he had always held (yes, always ! though 
she had been so cruelly false to him), and always should 
hold in her heart. 

After that, she thought, it would be much easier to give 
him up, and perhaps in time this woman would amend, and 
make him a devoted wife. 

Far off in the future might be a life of success, useful- 
ness, and even domestic comfort, for Gerard; while, for 
herself ! — well, it mattered little what became of her. She 
was no Roman Catholic, or the refuge would have occurred 
to her of a cloister. At present poor Norah felt as if she 
could never he at rest but in the tomb. 

Meanwhile she waited on, watching the door from which 
she expected Gerard every moment to emerge. And, 
though while she so eagerly desired it, she half dreaded the 
interview as positively their last, time lengthened itself out 
till she began to feel growing on her senses the unrealised 
horror, the vague apprehension of a dream. 

Suddenly, with a start, she thrust her delicate, bare head 
from the carriage window, and observed that a couple of 
foot-passengers had stopped mid-way in the crossing at the 
end of the street. Their faces looked very pale under a 
glare of gaslight; their attitudes expressed curiosity and 
consternation. Great-coated policemen, too, hurried rapidly 
past, vouchsafing no answer to the eager inquiries poured 
on them. Presently the trampling of many footsteps 
rained along the adjacent street, and smothered, scuffling 
noises came fi’om the theatre itself. Then, even ere Norah 
could frame the idea suddenly presented to her mind, it 
29 


450 


THE WHITE ROSE 


was substantiated by that thrilling cry which, more than 
any other alarm, seems to paralyse the boldest hearts, 
habituated to every other extremity of danger. “ Fire ! 
fire ! ” was shouted, loud and clear. She could not be 
mistaken ; she was sure of it before the startling words had 
been taken up and re-echoed by a hundi’ed voices. Listening 
with strained, horror-stricken attention, Norah could hear 
a suppressed stir and bustle inside the theatre, rising to 
wild tumultuous confusion, and subsiding again as quickly 
in an unaccountable calm, while over all arose long, 
swelling bursts of harmony from the grand, majestic music 
of the march in Faust. 

Robert Smart, in attendance on his mistress, turned a 
very white, helpless face towards the carriage window, and 
it is possible that at this juncture may have dawned on him 
some vague intention of going to inquire what had hap- 
pened. If so, it was put to immediate flight by the 
appearance, at the manager’s door, of the manager himself, 
pale as death, haggard, disordered, trembling all over, yet 
preserving that presence of mind which seldom deserts 
those who are accustomed to trust in their own resources 
and to act for themselves. His hair, whiskers, and eye- 
lashes were singed, his gloves and dress discolom-ed, 
scorched, and smelling strongly of fire ; about him, too, 
there clung a faint, fearful odour as of roasted flesh. 
Utterly aghast though he looked, into his eyes came a 
gleam of satisfaction when they rested on the carriage. 
‘‘How providential!” he exclaimed. “ Mrs. Vandeleur, 
a frightful accident has happened. They are bringing it 
out here.” 

It I was there no hope then ? Her heart stopped beating 
while he spoke ; but she leapt out unhesitating, and 
intimated to him — more in dumb show than words — that 
her carriage should be at his and the sufferer’s disposal. 
Ere he could thank her, Gerard Ainslie, Mr. Bruff and two 
more actors: — these three still in the costumes of the 
parts they had been playing — moved heavily and carefully 
through the doorway, bearing amongst them, covered over 
with a cloak, a shapeless bundle of rags, shreds, stage 
jewellery, and human suffering, that had been a beautiful 
woman and a consummate actress but ten minutes ago ! 


EXIT 


451 


Making room for these on the pavement, Mrs. Vandelem* 
was touched by Gerard’s shoulder as he passed. She did 
not yet understand the catastrophe, though it was a relief 
to learn that he, at least, seemed safe. ‘‘Who is it? ” 
she asked ; and even at such a time the well-known voice 
caused him to turn his head. “It is my wife,” he 
answered, and she found herself thinking she had never 
heard him speak in that strange, hoarse tone before. 
“ Gerard,” she whispered very softly, and laid her hand 
unconsciously on his shoulder; “ every moment is precious! 
Take her home at once to my house.” 

A doctor was already in attendance. He and Gerard 
lifted the poor actress, now moaning feebly in extremity of 
pain, into the carriage, while Norah — roused to all her 
natural energy under pressure of emergency — hailed a 
passing hansom, wound herself into it just as she was, 
with hare head and evening dress, to dash home and get 
everything ready, only pausing an instant for the despatch 
of Robert Smart, who recovered his wits slowly, in another 
direction, to secure fresh advice and more assistance. 

So poor Fanny was carried helplessly olf to the very 
house of all others in London which, perhaps, she would 
have been most loth to enter of her own free will, and 
Gerard Ainslie found himself, under a new and frightful 
complication of circumstances, crossing once more that 
well-known threshold, at which he had thought to lay down, 
once for all, every hope of happiness he had cherished 
upon earth. 


CHAPTER LX 


AFTER LONG YEARS 

Day after day poor Fanny lingered on, suffering less, 
perhaps, of physical pain than if her case had been more 
hopeless from the first. Doctors looked grave, and shook 
their heads, hut ordered brandy, stimulants, opiates, never- 
theless ; everything to relieve pain, to arouse vitality, and 
to sustain strength. Still she pined and faded gradually 
away, lying for hours together in a state of utter uncon- 
sciousness and stupor, varied at intervals, further and 
further apart, by a vague longing restlessness, that pro- 
duced fever and exhaustion. She could only speak in 
whispers, and even such weak efforts were attended with 
considerable exertion, but her large black eyes, glowing 
and beautiful with the light that is kindled in some other 
world than this, would follow Norah about the sick room, 
with a touching, wistful gaze, that seemed to implore 
forgiveness, while it expressed remorse, gratitude, and 
affection. 

Mrs. Vandeleur scarcely left her side, and, indeed, the 
poor sufferer grew very desponding and querulous when she 
missed the gentle touch that anticipated all her wants, and 
the kind loving eyes that never looked upon her but with 
sympathy, forgiveness, and compassion. 

Here were two women, each of whom had injured the 
other in her dearest hopes, her deepest and most sacred 
affections ; but one had learned those lessons of resignation 
and self-sacrifice by which mortals must be trained for 
immortality. And the other was even now trembling on 
a shore, where much that seemed so necessary in her 


AFTEB LONG YEARS 


453 


joui’iiey was to be discarded and abandoned as but vain 
incumbrance for her future voyage on the silent sea — so 
vague, so dark, so cold, so terrifie to all. Yet over its 
dreary surface is there not shed a light from the shining 
form of Him who walks upon the waters and stretches out 
a hand to save the weakest of us ere we sink into an 
unfathomable deep ? 

These two had forgiven each other their injuries, as they 
hoped themselves to be forgiven. There was nothing 
between them now but peace, and confidence, and good- 
will. I suppose if patients were doctors, they, too, would 
err on the side of timidity, and shrink with professional 
caution from anything in the shape of responsibility. The 
best advice in London forbade all excitement as most 
injurious to the sufferer, and peremptorily interdicted 
Fanny from the visits of her husband. At last, however, 
on one occasion, when, after an exceedingly bad night, the 
invalid had prayed very earnestly for a few minutes’ con- 
versation with Gerard, three wise men, whose faces looked 
wiser and more solemn than usual, announced that her 
petition might be granted, and then Mrs. Vandeleur knew 
that there was no longer any hope. 

It lasted but a short time, that interview between 
husband and wife, the first for long years of separation, 
never to be repeated here on earth. No one else was 
present, and mutual forgiveness, penitence, reconciliation, 
whatever took place, remained, as they ought to remain, 
without witness and without record; only, weak as she 
was, Fanny’s tones could be heard uninterrupted for many 
minutes consecutively, as if she were arguing and ex- 
postulating on some subject very near her heart, so that 
when Gerard left the room, pale, trembling, with tearful 
eyes, and she called him back once more to her bedside, 
the last words she ever spoke to her husband were heard 
plainly by, at least, one mourning listener, through the 
half-closed door. 

“ Then you’ve promised, dear, and I’m easy. It’s the 
only way to undo all the harm I’ve done you ; and you’ll be 
happy, Gerard, never fear. You’re young still, you know 
— young for a man. And I couldn’t have made you the 
right sort of wife — not if it was ever so. I wasn’t brought 


464 


THE WHITE BOSE 


up to it. And, Gerard, dear, in Eipley churcliyard, as I 
said, close to father — d’ye mind ? I’m tired now — I think 
I’ll take a sleep. God bless you, Gerard ! Perhaps I’ll 
see you to-morrow — perhaps, dear. I’ll never see you 
again ! ” 


mk * * * * 

It is easy to understand how a lady of Miss Tregunter’s 
wealth, fashion, and general pretensions could only be 
married at such a church as St. George’s or St. James’s, 
and of those she elected the latter, in consequence, I 
imagine, of some technical necessity connected with her 
bridegroom’s residence in that parish. Of bridesmaids, I 
understand, she had exactly four couple, though why so 
large an escort should have been requisite, what were the 
duties of these beautiful auxiliaries, or how far the bride 
derived moral support from their presence, I am at a loss 
to conjecture. There they were, nevertheless, all in pink, 
decorated, besides, with ornaments of rubies, precisely 
similar in pattern, presented by the bridegroom. 

Miss Tregunter herself was obliged to abandon her 
favourite colour, in compliance with the dictates of an 
over-fastidious civilisation, but preserved as much of it as 
possible in her cheeks, so that when she dropped her veil. 
Burton, who was best man on the occasion, felt forcibly 
reminded of the lace-covered toilet-table in her dressing- 
room, as he beheld it when admitted with other hymeneal 
officials to a public view of her trousseau laid out in that 
apartment. 

The Dandy was free from his difficulties after all, and 
had escaped far better than he deserved. There are men 
in the world, more than we generally suppose, for whom it 
is an impossibility to hit an enemy when he is down, and 
Gerard Ainslie was one of them. During Fanny’s illness 
this gentleman could not, of course, leave England, as he 
had originally intended, and the disposal, at considerable 
loss, of the district he had purchased in South America, 
with the sale of that well-found barque. The White Rose. 
letter A, No. 1, entered at Lloyd’s clinker-built and copper- 
fastened, besides full freight and provisions lying on board 
of her in London Docks, put him in possession of a large 


AFTEB LONG YEAB8 


456 


sum of ready money, for which he believed he could find 
no more fitting use than to extricate Burton from his most 
pressing liabilities, thus, to use Dolly Egremont’s expres- 
sion, “ setting him on his legs again, though the beggar 
didn’t deserve it, and giving him one more chance to he a 
man or a mouse ! ” 

There was but little of the sentimental in Mr. Burton’s 
composition ; but his wonted eloquence deserted him when 
he grasped the friend’s hand whom he had injured so 
cruelly, and tried to thank him, with dry lips and a knot 
in his throat. For once his heart was too full to speak. 

He made a capital “ best man ” for Dolly though, 
nevertheless, arranging all the details and ceremonious 
observances of the wedding, with a tact that seems 
especially accorded by nature to those who are predestined 
to remain bachelors themselves. The cake with its ring 
and thimble was ordered, and I believe compounded under 
his directions. The lawyers were hastened, the license was 
procured, the clergyman advertised, the wedding-feast 
provided, and the invitations were sent out. Not the most 
distant relation of bride or bridegroom was omitted, and I 
have been unable to learn that anybody took offence at the 
slightest neglect or want of deference during the whole pro- 
ceedings, so that when Theresa in the vestry signed her 
name to the register with a flourish, just below ‘‘ Cousin 
Charles,” she was justified in affirming that through the 
whole course of her experience she had never been con- 
cerned in so orderly, so well-conducted, and altogether so 
decorous a wedding ! 

They were likely to be indeed a happy couple ; and every 
one of their friends wished them well. None more so than 
a man in deep mourning passing down the street, as the 
last carriage with its liveried servants, brilliant in bouquets 
and white favours, set its freight of beauty down at the 
church door. His dress denoted that he had lately 
sustained some domestic bereavement, but on Gerard 
Ainslie’s brow might be traced a joyous expression of 
hope and confidence, such as it had not worn since the 
days of Marston Kectory and Ripley marshes, long ago. 
In his eyes had come that light which the poet tells us was 
‘‘ never yet on sea or shore,” but which most of us have 


466 


THE WHITE BOSE 


seen at some period of our lives, in the eyes we best love 
to look on here below that we humbly hope may shine on 
us unchanged in heaven hereafter. 

The association of ideas, the links on which thought 
follows thought, as wave succeeds to wave, and the 
tendency to speak aloud when none biit ourselves can 
hear, are amongst the eccentricities of reason, the most 
eccentric, the most unreasonable. Turning into St. 
James’s Street, a crossing-sweeper, on whom he bestowed 
a shilling, was the only listener to Gerard’s unconnected 
thanksgiving. 

** What have I done to deserve to he so happy ? How 
can I ever hope to he worthy of her? I suppose my 
darling will have to be married in a bonnet, when the year 
is out. She surely won’t insist on waiting longer than 
that ? ” 

And Norah didn’t 1 


THE END. 


TJNWiN BROTHERS, THE OBE8HAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON. 












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